


Marshmalloween

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Dean, Camping, Childhood Friends, Coming Untouched, Fake Character Death, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Dean, Halloween, Hunting, Illustrated, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Magic, Making Out, Sam Lives, Samhain, Southern Gothic, Spin the Bottle, Spooky, Teen Fiction, Teen Sam Winchester, Will-O-The-Wisp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 00:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12569508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: In an attempt to be the world’s coolest guardian, Dean takes his seventeen-year old brother Sam and all his friends to a ‘haunted’ swamp for Halloween night. Even if the ghost stories are a load of baloney, at least the alligators are real. Dean is unexpectedly reunited with his childhood friend (and crush) Castiel, kickstarting a fun night of Halloween antics - marshmallow toasting, bottle spinning, kiss exchanging, and spooky storytelling around the campfire. But when Sam and his dog both go missing, Dean realises the stories his mother once told him are all true. Monsters are real. And unless Dean, Cas, and all of Sam’s friends can figure out how to bring Sam back, he might be lost forever.





	1. House of Venom, Land of Beasts

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Underlying themes of grief, mourning, and being too young or inexperienced to be a perfect parent. One scene where Dean thinks Sam is dead (but he’s not).
> 
> A big spoopy thank-you to Libby, my trusty beta editor. And my sister Amara, who assists me daily, using the liberal application of hugs. I hope the Will-O’-The-Wisps will always find you boring.

Castiel’s furious demands continued _burning_ in his throat. _Why won’t you let me go with you, Na-Nan?! Why do you never let me go?_

The argument ended, but the echoes of shouted words still hung in the walls, ringing in Castiel’s ears. Heat seethed in his veins, jaw tense, nostrils flared. The moth-shaped patterns in the wallpaper gleamed red rather than gold, shadows darkened.

 _Boy, if you think I’d let a twenty-one-year-old go huntin’ on Samhain night, you off your goddamn gourd. You hunt when you can prove you’d survive alone. Until then you_ stay _where I_ tell _you to stay!_

With Trouble wrapped around his wrist, Castiel stormed to the front door, which Missouri had left open. The soles of his boots scuffed on the porch wood, and Castiel took a breath to shout after his guardian, but the door of her muddy hatchback slammed closed, and Castiel bit his words down, as she wouldn’t be able to hear.

_How am I meant to prove I’d survive, if you won’t let me prove it?! How can I hunt alone if you won’t let me hunt alone?! Do you even hear yourself?_

Missouri had said nothing. But the fury in her eyes was enough to curdle Castiel’s gut, ice churning through his stomach. Missouri left without a reply, knowing her silence was more cutting than getting the last word.

The engine of Missouri’s car scraped to life, and she hit the gas with a too-harsh kick, spraying swamp residue up against the porch as she shot off down the winding, overgrown driveway.

And now she was gone; the toxic cloud of her car’s exhaust faded into the mist, and Castiel was left to contemplate his mistake in solitude. He turned his back on the forbidden outside world, and with a cry of regret and frustration, he kicked a hole through the nearest pumpkin. He expected it to split, but his boot only bit into its hard edge, and he grunted in pain, flinging the pumpkin into the undergrowth with another kick.

Trouble squirmed further up Castiel’s wrist, hissing gently.

Castiel sighed, sitting forcefully on the top step, glaring out at the swamp. “I hate her,” he growled, as Trouble slithered up to his shoulder. “I _hate_ her.”

Thoughts and explanations rushed in an ugly coloured mess through his head, but he couldn’t express a single thing. He set a hand over his face and pushed away tears, scowling at himself. He couldn’t even reason with his guardian like an adult. Here he was, crying like a child. No wonder Missouri didn’t trust him.

Trouble slid down onto Castiel’s lap, coiling in a pile around his paling fist, her iridescent scales gleaming in rainbow colours. Castiel watched her twist and untangle herself, and was calmed by her slowness.

Once more, he wiped tears from his cheeks. “Just you and me, then,” Castiel said under his breath. “All by ourselves for Halloween. Just like always.”

“Allll righty, let’s see,” Dean said to himself, battling with a paper map as it half-obscured the windshield. “Where in the hell are we...?”

“This is gonna be so _cool_ ,” Sam grinned, taking their dad’s journal in his hands when Dean passed it to him. “Lost in the middle of nowhere. For _Halloween_.”

“Yeah, yeah – _can_ it, little brother,” Dean frowned, folding the map so he could focus on the relevant part. “People keep telling me this place is impossible to access by road, so you’re countin’ on me to work magic here. Shut up and let me concentrate.”

Sam jittered in the passenger seat of the minivan, eyes turning with excitement to his friends in the back seats. Bones, Sam’s golden retriever, padded around in the far rear, climbing restlessly from the footwell to the seats, then back down, tongue lolling, huffing on the glass and smearing his wet nose on things.

In the seat directly behind Sam, Max sighed and made his seat clunk as he leaned back. “Signal’s patchy,” he said, discontent. “Is there no wi-fi out here, or what?”

“I’m playing offline,” Benjamin said, eyes locked to her phone screen, unblinking. “I just beat level four-hundred-and-twelve, where are you up to?”

“Guys, shut _up_ ,” Sam urged, nervous eyes flicking to Dean.

Dean gritted his teeth, rotating the paper map. He reached for John’s journal, dragging it from Sam’s hands and onto his denim-clad thigh. The open page showed a hand-drawn map without written labels, only a red line-drawing of a house in the middle of a page of black, snake-like scribbles.

Nine years after their dad died, Dean had figured out the scribbles signified the shape of a supposedly haunted swamp in Louisiana. After one more year went by, and their mom passed on too... Dean was determined to see what was there. Sam had requested a spooky weekend away with his school pals. Finally, it was time.

“Hey,” came a gentle voice from the back of the van. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean intoned, half paying attention.

“Drive forward a bit, there’s a signpost.”

Dean looked back over his shoulder, seeing Ellie pause in retying her thick black hair to give a directional nod, one finger pointing. Dean looked out ahead, and through the overhanging drapery of Spanish moss and the gnarled twisting trunks of trees, he let the minivan ease forward.

There was indeed a signpost: the ancient sort, made of wood. It only pointed one way: straight ahead – and though its white letters were chipped, they were clear to read.

 _YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE THIS PLACE_.  
_Turn back!_

“Well, that’s not ominous at _all_ ,” Alicia said cheerfully, from beside her twin brother, Max. The lighter curls of Alicia’s ombre hair tickled the driver’s seat as she leaned forward.

“At least we know we have the right place,” Sam said hopefully. “Spoop central.”

Dean bit his bottom lip, holding the journal and the map side-by-side. “Should be a turn, off to the left,” he said quietly. “Here, hold this—” He passed the map and journal to Sam, ducking his head to drive forward. The minivan rumbled, wheels bumping and rolling over scattered tree litter. They kept following the semi-structured path that way for several minutes, but there was no break in the foliage, and Dean started to wonder if he’d have to back the van up again.

Then Ellie shouted from the back. “Hey! Look behind us!”

Dean checked the rear-view mirror, and saw a muddy little car poking its headlights out between dense bushes. It turned to its right, taking the tight corner with practised ease. Off it went, down the path Dean had just driven. It went so fast Dean could only assume the driver hadn’t seen him or their yellow Volkswagen.

Preoccupied, probably. It was a hard thing to miss.

“Found our turn,” Dean smiled, scraping the van into reverse and backing up twenty feet. “Oblivion, here we come.”

The gloom of evening had well and truly set in by the time Dean discovered a clearing. He pulled the van up facing the water’s edge, and he let out a breath of relief. “Impossible to access by road, they said. No way in hell you’ll get that thing down there, sonny, they said. Puh!”

Sam gave Dean his biggest grin, reaching to squeeze a fistful of his leather jacket. “Everyone out?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Wait, _no_! No, no. Hang on.” He turned in his seat, making sure he could see the face of every teenager here. He could see Bones’ floppy yellow ears, too.

“Okay, look,” Dean said with force, “I know we’re here for the creep factor. I know it’s meant to be terrifying, and gross, and weird. But for the love of curly fries, that does _not_ mean you’re allowed to wander off on your own. Or take a dip in the swamp. Or push each other in ‘for a joke’. There’s legit alligators here, okay. They might not eat your face off, but they sure as hell are gonna take a chunk outta you if you make a bad move. So stay where I can see you, alright? Don’t go _anywhere_ without a flashlight and a buddy. Vulcan salute if you heard me, and swear on your life not to mess around.”

Sam raised his hand first, fingers separated two and two. Max and Alicia did the same, then Benjamin, who had to put her phone down first. Ellie had trouble separating her fingers the right way, so gave Dean the peace sign instead. Dean nodded. “Okay. Cool. You nerds.”

He chuckled to himself as the kids scoffed at him.

“Everyone help me put up the tent. Sam, you’re on bug spray duty. Alicia, you get the citronella candles. Nothing’s fun when there’s mosquitos around.”

“Where’s the bathroom?” Alicia asked, digging in her bag for a lighter.

“Bathroom,” Dean repeated. “Right.” His eyes flicked to the roof of the car. “Good thing I brought a shovel, huh. You guys set up the tent. I’mma go... dig us a hole.”

Everyone groaned. Silently, Dean shared the sentiment.

“Bones! Stop! Give that back, I need it!” Sam wrestled with his dog, fighting over a stick for the fire. “Bones! Drop it!”

Bones finally let up, and the force of him letting go made Sam fell over backwards, sending the stick flying. Bones barked and went to fetch it, wagging his tail all the way.

Benjamin leapt sideways when Bones got too close, and hissed at him like a cat, showing all her teeth. Bones just picked up his stick in his mouth and turned around, trotting back to Sam.

Sam sat up, grinning as he brushed forest debris off his corduroy jacket, then straightened the drawstrings of the hoodie that peeked out from underneath. Bones left him the stick, and Sam threw it again, making sure to send his dog away from the water.

“This is why I prefer horses,” Ellie said with folded arms. “I’d pick a horse ranch over a dog park any day. Good thing my parents live on a ranch, huh!”

Alicia shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Girl, you are _obsessed_. Remind you to get you a lucky horseshoe for your birthday.”

“I’m a cat person,” Max said, tossing a tent peg in his hand. “Feline fine, all the way.”

“Same,” Benjamin said, shifting away from Bones as he returned to Sam. “Dogs are all _huffy_. And loud.”

“Should’a met our great-aunt’s cat, Lord Conkers,” Alicia said to Ellie. “He huffed all night and yowled all day.”

“Bones!” Sam called, when Bones didn’t emerge from the bushes right away. “Here boy! I need that stick back!”

“He’s probably found a better one,” Alicia smiled.

“Boo-oones,” Sam sang.

“ _Hey!_ ” came a yelp from deeper in the shrubbery. “ _Bones! Get out! Shoo! Give me that— HeyheyHEY—_ ”

Sam stood up, grinning as his friends laughed. “Bones!”

A crackle and a smashing of branches announced Bones’ approach: he burst out of the leaves carrying Dean’s shovel in his mouth, looking pleased with himself. Dean came bounding after him, hands reaching. All around the half-built fire, Sam’s friends fell about, guffawing at the sight of Sam and Dean stumbling about after their dog.

At last Dean snatched up the shovel, and stood upright, brushing his hand across his forehead.

“Bad dog,” Sam told Bones, but his smile gave him away.

“He jumped into the hole,” Dean complained. “Damn dog’s gonna end up tracking our own crap into the tent if we’re not careful.”

“He likes being underground,” Sam said, shaking his head as he sat down on a log again. “The deeper the pit, the happier he is.”

“Should’a called him Gravedigger,” Dean uttered, wandering back into the bushes. “Guess ‘Bones’ was close enough...”

After the giggles faded, the nightlife in the swamp began to sing and simmer, the sounds of frogs and crickets harmonising into an ongoing trill. Soon, the campfire was built, Sam’s contentment bloomed with the flames. He sat back in silence, watching the first tendrils of light feel about the kindling, oranges and yellows twitching up to stroke at the log enclave above. He looked around himself, thrilled to see his friends’ smiling faces.

Max and Benjamin had gotten the rented six-person tent set up, and now argued over the portable powerbank to charge their phones. Meanwhile Alicia was busy rolling down the bug shields on the tent opening, deciding on activities for later.

“Dean brought, like, fifteen thousand marshmallows, so we can toast smores. And when we’ve drunk all the beer we can play spin-the-bottle!”

“Oh-ho, _no_ way,” Dean said, emerging from the bushes brushing mud from his cheeks, his dirty shovel slung over his shoulder. “As much as I wanna be your cool vacation uncle, every single one of you is under twenty-one. That beer’s just for me. I brought you guys ginger ale.”

“Urrgh,” Alicia grumbled, both hands pulling down her fawny-coloured cheeks in despair. “Come onnn. We’re supervised.”

Dean shook his head firmly.

“Ha,” Max said under his breath. “I thought he was gonna say we can’t play spin-the-bottle.”

Dean waved a hand. “You kids can do whatever the hell you want with each other, so long as you’re sober and everyone consents. Hey— You wanna see something cool? Look at this.” He pulled his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans. “Saw this in the shrubbery back there.”

Everyone crowded around Dean as he pulled up the newest photo from his camera roll. He chuckled as he showed it around, everyone craning to see. “Creepy, right?”

Sam chilled with excitement as he saw the sign Dean had photographed. Stretched between six trees, one white letter painted on each tree trunk, was the word ‘ _B E W A R E_ ’.

“Neat,” Ellie breathed, grasping the lapels of her suede-fleece vest.

“Guys—?” Max’s voice seemed wary, turning his shaved head, peering into the thick trees beyond their protected campground. “What’s that...?”

“Where?” Sam craned around Benjamin’s lanky figure, and he laughed. “That little lump on the ground? Max, c’mon, it’s a snapping turtle.”

Max snorted. “Well, it weren’t there before, it freaked me out.”

“Scaredy cat,” Alicia grinned, nudging her brother. “Let’s move the thing outta the way, it’s gonna get stepped on.”

“Don’t touch it,” Sam warned, as Bones approached with a wagging tail, then leapt away in surprise. “They can bite your fingers off.”

“Go gentle, that’s all,” Ellie said, rolling up her plaid sleeves and heading to the open side of the minivan. “Maybe if we gave it some food it’ll follow the trail.”

“Are you crazy?” Max laughed. “What’re you gonna feed it, baked beans?”

Dean rolled his eyes, marching past the kids, sweeping his shovel down to the dirt and scooping the turtle up without a fuss. “There ya go, buddy,” he said quietly, setting the creature at the side of the clearing, toeing it away until it got the message and skedaddled. “Problem solved. Now—”

“Yeek!” came a shriek. Benjamin leapt back from the water’s edge, the whites of her eyes showing up big and fearful against her black skin. She pointed a finger towards the swamp.

Dean fumbled for the flashlight clipped to his belt, and he clicked it on, steadying it against his shoulder.

Sweeping the light across the swamp, he saw the pea-green goop floating on the water’s surface, broken by the darkness of drifting logs. But the light caught on each of the logs, gleaming with two white circles.

“ _Coooool_ ,” Sam said, floppy hair flopping more than usual as he gave tiny jumps of delight. “Real alligators.”

“All right, all right, stand back,” Dean said, waving a hand to keep the kids away. “If one of you gets bit I’ll never hear the end of it. God, this was a terrible idea. Yeah, yeah, great plan, Dean! Let’s bring five seventeen-year-olds and a badly behaved dog to a creepy haunted swamp, crawling with man-eating monsters!”

“We’re _eighteen_ ,” Alicia and Max said in unison. “And so’s Benjamin,” Alicia added, knocking her wrist against her petrified friend.

“Big difference,” Dean chided. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re still children. I’m not going to be—”

“Gah!” yelped Max, swatting at his neck. “Mosquito!”

“Ah!” Ellie shouted, as another snapping turtle bumped into her boot. “What the _hell_?!”

Dean swung around, alarmed at their shouts. And then—

“Oh shit,” Sam said, voice light with terror.

Dean saw what Sam was looking at, and his blood surged like ice under his skin.

Standing in the clearing, dressed in a fancy golden dinner jacket with a black bow tie, wielding a _sword_ , was a young man with dark hair, pale skin, and a severe expression.

“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” Dean said hastily, stumbling forward with a hand outstretched. “Hey, dude, put the sword down. They’re just kids.”

“You’re on private property,” the man said, voice low and unsteady. “You— You have to leave. It’s not safe here. The marsh lights will take you away.”

“Sweet!” Ellie hissed, elbowing Alicia in the side. “This place _is_ haunted.”

The man seemed alarmed. “Why aren’t you scared?! There are forces beyond your understanding at play here tonight!”

“Heyheyhey,” Dean approached the newcomer, both palms raised, lips parting. “It’s all good, man. We’ll get out of your hair. Just— Just put the sword down first, okay?”

The man hesitated, looking at Dean closely. He began to squint. The tip of the sword wavered, and suddenly dropped to the dirt. “ _Dean?_ ”

“What?” Dean stopped a single step in front of the other guy. He took another look, examining those blue eyes – familiar dips of skin over high cheekbones—

“Wait— _Cas_?!” All the breath went out of Dean, and he just shook his head. “No. No _way_.”

Castiel began to grin, showing the teeth on one side of his face. “How—? Why are you here, what—?”

Dean simply shook his head, rushing the last step to enclose his old friend in a hug. He shut his eyes and squeezed, breathing out, then breathing in. Cas still smelled the way Dean remembered. Sunny rooms in creaky old houses. Malt cookies saturated with too-strong orange squash.

“Dean,” Castiel said softly, his tone one of utter disbelief. He released the handle of his sword completely, and it _flump_ ed onto the soft swamp dirt. Castiel’s hand curled around the back of Dean’s neck, squeezing.

“Um,” Alicia said, clicking her flashlight on and waving the beam around Dean and Cas’ joined chests. “Not to ruin your moment, or anything, but what’ve we gotta do to get an explanation here? Your friend just _casually_ has a sword?”

Dean grinned as he backed up, lapping his lips apart. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for Cas to speak.

“Apologies if I scared you,” Castiel said, lowering his eyes. “I saw your firelight from the house, I thought I’d have to fend off burglars. I grabbed the first weapon I found.”

“We’re just here for a fun weekend away, Cas, that’s all. You, uh... want a beer?” Dean offered, clapping Castiel on the arm.

“Oh.” Castiel fretted. “I’ve never had an alcoholic beverage before.” He looked around, from face to face, then back to Dean. A confident smile flitted across his lips. “Okay.”

Dean’s hand dragged down the texture of Castiel’s dinner jacket, and he shook his head. “You dressed up smart, huh. You goin’ to a party later?”

Castiel looked at himself, pulling at the satin lapel, then peering back at Dean. “This is just... what I wear. It was in the cupboard when I moved in.”

Dean smiled, heading for the drinks cooler stashed just inside the minivan’s open side door. “You ain’t changed a bit, have you? Weirdo.” He rummaged for a drink, eyes never leaving his friend. 

Nearby, Max stood with his arms folded, perplexed. “So how do you know this guy, exactly?”

Sam chuckled. “Oh, Dean and Cas go _way_ back. Dean’s been telling me stories for years. They basically grew up together. Totally inseparable.”

Dean grinned. “Don’t you know it.” He handed Castiel a beer bottle, watching him try and twist the cap off. Dean shook his head, taking back the bottle and using a flick-knife from his pocket to snap off the lid. He handed it back with a smile. “Good to see ya again, man.”

“I... still can’t believe...” Castiel trailed off, in awe.

Dean licked his lips, looking over at Max and the others. “I know Sam’s been tellin’ you guys about our parents’ Illuminati cult, huh. ‘Monster-hunting’, supposedly. Me and Cas... Well, it was one of those things, you know? When Mom and Dad used to do stuff in secret. Sam was there, but I’d bet anything he barely remembers. He was pretty young.”

Sam shrugged. “Tell us about it?”

Alicia dragged a camping stool out of the van and snapped it open, sitting down and crossing her legs in front of her. “Storytime!” she sang.

Max cackled and sat beside her, perched on the step of the minivan’s open side. Ellie found a place on one of the van’s seats, leaning out of the sliding door so she could hear. Even Benjamin sent her phone to sleep and sat cross-legged, just inside the mouth of the tent. In the centre of them all, the campfire swelled in anticipation.

Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, realising everyone was waiting. Cas sipped at his beer, screwing up his face as he swallowed.

“C’mere,” Dean said, taking Castiel’s sleeve and dragging him to a fallen tree, lazing half-rotten on the ground. Dean sat, and Castiel sat beside him, staring curiously at his beer bottle. Dean cracked open his own beer, sipping at the lip.

“So,” Dean sighed, leaning back on one hand, eyes set on Castiel, “Where do we even start?”

Castiel gazed back at Dean. He said nothing, simply in awe of his presence.

Dean quirked up a shy little grin, leaning forward over his thighs. “So our parents. John and Mary Winchester. And Castiel’s folks too. They, uh. They had some pretty weird friends.”

Castiel chuckled, eyes on his drink. “Understatement.”

Dean knocked his knee against Castiel’s suit pants. “Every weekend, growing up, I’d end up... in the back room, or the basement, or some random bedroom. Some stranger. I didn’t know who the hell all the stuff belonged to. It was cool stuff, though – antique rifles, engraved bullets, taxidermy vultures. Leather-bound books gold-stamped with Latin. Shit like that. But through the walls, or the floorboards, I’d always hear... some kinda meeting going on. I dunno.”

“ _I_ know,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean raised his eyebrows, nodding. “At the time it was a big mystery. There was always a couple other kids in with me. Told to hang out for a few hours while the parents talk shop. Cas was one of the regulars.”

Castiel gave Dean a sly smile. “We spent hours and hours together. Every week for _years._ ”

Dean grinned gleefully, recalling a solid memory. “You remember how we’d race cars? Made out of some guy’s hip flask and—”

“Bullet casings for wheels,” Castiel finished, tipping back a bewildered sip of his beer. His nose crinkled in distaste.

“Dude,” Dean laughed, reaching to push Castiel’s beer bottle down. “You don’t gotta drink it if you don’t like it.”

“I’ll have it!” Alicia shouted.

“No-no,” Dean warned, stopping Castiel from handing it over. “They’re all underage. Alicia, sit down.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Yes, of course. Sam – you must be... seventeen now? You were just a baby when we first met.”

Dean laughed. “Right! Me and Cas were changing Sammy’s diaper ourselves at age four, ‘cause as a kid, Sammy never cried, and we’d get yelled at if we interrupted the meeting to ask someone else to do it. Fun times.”

Sam grimaced.

Castiel went on, looking fondly at Dean, “Dean and I did our schoolwork together, at a different house each time. Sometimes the buildings were abandoned. Sometimes—”

“Hotels, right? The old, run-down kind.” Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“It’s strange,” Castiel said airily, head tilted, eyes glazed with the light of the fire. “As a child I was _instructed_ to look after myself. But now I’m grown up my godmother would do almost anything to prevent me from needing to.” Sadly, he bowed his head.

“ _God_ mother?” Dean repeated. Unsurely, he pried, “What happened to your parents?”

“Oh,” Castiel said gently, eyes turning to Dean’s. “They died.”

The heat drained from Dean’s skin. A tremble overtook him as he replied, sullenly, “I... I’m sorry.” He had to swallow hard before he could breathe again.

“Wow,” Alicia whispered. “That seriously sucks.”

“Don’t let it worry you,” Castiel smiled, eyes on the fire. “I really don’t miss them at all. I did for a while. But things are better now. Mostly.”

“How—?” Dean stammered. “How do you _not_ miss them? After our dad went—”

Choked up, Dean had to set his beer bottle down on the ground, hands wringing together. His eyes shot to Sam. Sam stared blankly into the flames, which slowed, shimmering blue for a moment.

“Umm.” Dean glanced at Castiel again. “Mom stopped going to the meetings after we lost our dad. That was why I never saw you after.”

“You were eleven years old,” Castiel remembered. “Sam had just turned... seven.”

The fire twisted with purple, burning low. Max hopped off the van’s step to go and poke it back to life. He squeezed Sam’s shoulder while he was there, and soon the fire grew again, tumbling with an easygoing yellow flame.

Sam swallowed, looking at Castiel. “We lost Mom last year,” he explained. “It was so sudden. I... got to say goodbye. And I got a letter to remember her by. Dean never got either.”

“Oh... that’s terrible,” Castiel said quietly, his distressed glances hopping around the circle, spotting morosity on every face around. “I don’t know what to say, I’m... so sorry.” He gripped Dean’s hand, and Dean gripped back, face drawn and pale. He was glad Sam was the one who told Cas; Dean wouldn’t have been able to say it.

“Our godparents were your folks,” Dean whispered, eyes settling on Castiel’s chin. “So, uh. If your parents passed on already, guess that’s why Sam ‘n me never got told where to go. We kind of... wandered around.”

“Dean’s like a discount mom and dad all in one,” Sam said brightly, hugging his legs. “It’s cool ‘cause he’s so close to me in age. Seriously, what kind of forty-something parent would let their kid and their friends come out to a _swamp_ for Halloween? Dean’s _awesome_.”

“Hell yeah,” Max said, reaching towards Dean for a high five. “Swamp party. You rock, Dean.”

“Naww, thanks, Max. Benajmin.” Dean smiled, accepting a fist bump. “Ellie, you too. _You_ guys are awesome.”

While Dean beamed at the compliments, he felt a complex tension in the pit of his stomach, and he did wonder... how good could his parenting decisions really be? He was barely a proper human himself, his adult brain had only just developed. Parenting experience was one thing, but life experience was another. Like Sam said, what other parent would allow this? Maybe there was a reason.

Dean gulped, and smiled away his self-doubt. “Over the last year, me ‘n Sam uprooted ourselves a bunch of times. Just to stay sane, y’know? Always easier to move on from the sad memories when you can’t see the reminders. Started off in Kansas. Sammy’s all set to start school here now. Louisiana State.”

“And you?” Castiel asked.

Dean chuckled to himself. “High school GED. That’s about as far as I’ll ever go.”

Castiel gave his hand another gentle stroke with a thumb, then let go. Dean’s hand felt cold without him.

“Anyway,” Dean said, trying to shake away the grief. He put on a grin and sat up straight, cocking his head and looking at Castiel carefully. “Ten years apart, and you look about the same, Cas. Or – maybe not! Puberty gave you a decent upgrade. What’s that, uh...” He wiggled a finger against his own chin. “Lil’ stubble there? Peach fuzz.” His eyes lowered, the tiniest smirk tugging at his mouth as he observed how thick Cas’ thighs had gotten. “Damn.”

“What? What are you looking at?” Castiel asked, lifting his boot to see the dirt underneath.

Sam chuckled. “He thinks you grew up hot.”

“Pardon me?” Castiel’s brows collided.

Dean’s lips parted, a rush of air drawing inward. “Wha— Hey, no, I never said...” He grinned breathily, shaking his head.

“He thinks you’re red, smoking, sexy-hot,” Sam purred. There was a beady twinkle in his eye when Dean glared at him.

Alicia grinned devilishly. “Dean and Caa-as, sitting in a tree—”

“K, I, S, S—” Every kid joined in, “I, N, G!”

Dean rubbed at his forehead. “God-dammit, you guys. Me n’ Cas aren’t like that.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to Dean, uttering, “Are they implying you want to kiss me?”

“We’re gonna play spin-the-bottle later,” Alicia said gleefully. “You’ll get your chance.”

“No, they’re not invited,” Ellie said bluntly. “C’mon, they’re too old. They’re adults. They can’t watch us making out, that would be weird. And creepy.”

Dean scowled. “Thought you came _out_ here for weird and creepy.”

“Ew, not like _that_ ,” Sam laughed, tossing a damp leaf Dean’s way. “But—” he glanced at his friends, “c’mon, we can’t just exclude them completely. They can _be_ there, they just can’t play.”

Castiel leaned close to Dean again, uttering, “Dean, what is ‘spin-the-bottle’?”

Dean drew in a nervous breath, smiling. “Ahhh. It’s...! Um.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll explain later, ‘kay?”

Castiel nodded, holding Dean’s eye. “Okay.”

Dean marvelled at how this guy was his own age, but still bizarrely out of the loop. What world had he been living in since they parted? What if he’d never left the realm that their parents once inhabited? Old books, old clothes. Monster stories. Swords.

Oh, God, no. Poor guy. He probably missed out on _everything_ good in modern life.

As the kids around them chatted, teasing, poking at the fire, Castiel leaned in to ask about the group’s matching bracelets, and double-check he’d heard their names right. But Dean got tangled in his own thoughts. Though Sam had made sure to include Dean in the fun, the others’ words got to him more easily. He was too old to play. He’d never had the opportunity to enjoy teenage kissing games, as he had no friends at that age. He’d missed his chance, just like Cas.

But...

Maybe there was a small opening here. Cas wasn’t too old or too young. Yeah, he was a dude, but that was less outlandish than being the wrong age. If the bottle spun and landed between them... Dean wouldn’t exactly be _mad_.

Might be awkward though. Old childhood friend, popping outta the woodwork after ten years – a makeout session wasn’t exactly a sure thing. Perhaps Cas thought Dean had changed too much. Maybe he wasn’t _cute_ -cute any more.

Dean licked his lips, admiring Castiel’s slightly chubby profile, and he privately made it his mission to re-befriend his best friend. Heterosexual Dean may be, but he wasn’t going to let _that_ hold him back if he only had one option.


	2. Voodoo Queen

Laughter set warmth ablaze in each of their chests, stretching to connect them all as the conversation went on. As Sam smiled – genuinely, with satisfaction and happiness visible in his eyes – the fire grew mighty, craving more fuel. It was stoked again and again, as conversations leapt onward, topics either petty or deeply personal, varying minute-to-minute.

On metal skewers they speared fat pink marshmallows, holding them close to the flames.

The sugar blazed, the softness melting to a crisp brown at the edges. To open mouths those marshmallows went, on the heels of laughter and joy.

Tucked together with their butts on their damp log, Dean and Castiel conversed more privately.

“I remember with a rhyme,” Castiel told Dean. “Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November. When February’s done, all the rest have thirty-one.”

“Jeez, that’s way too complicated,” Dean frowned. “Use your knuckles, dude. Look. Make a fist. See.” Dean poked Castiel’s first knuckle. “January. That’s thirty-one. Down into the dip. February. Up: March. Down: April. You get to the end, July and August both have thirty-one, and you go back the other way.”

Castiel squinted. “You took twice as many words to explain that than I used for the rhyme.”

“Yeah, well, it works for me,” Dean smiled.

Sam’s voice carried from the other side of the fire. “It’s pronounced _Sah-win_ ,” he explained to Ellie. “Even though it’s spelt ‘Samhain’.”

“What’s that?” Dean inquired.

“The old Celtic festival which inspired Halloween. Samhain night, it’s tonight,” Sam said. “It’s the night when all the borders between worlds come down, and all the ghosts and ghouls roam free – if you believe in that stuff, I mean.”

“It’s very real,” Castiel said seriously. “Like I said when I arrived, there are forces at play tonight which none of us have any real knowledge of.”

The kids all grinned, each thrilled in their own way.

“I’m not joking,” Castiel insisted.

“Don’t worry, Cas, we believe you,” Dean said, smiling. “Totally.”

Sam smirked, shooting Dean a quick glance. “The souls of the dead... they’ll come around, asking for favours, seeking hospitality. Only as the sun begins to rise will they pass on from this realm.”

“Ooooh,” Max sang, and Alicia and Benjamin joined in, harmonising. Bones began to howl, singing along.

Ellie laughed. “You _guys_. You freak me out when you do that.”

“ _Ooooh-ooooh,_ ” the three sang again, swivelling to look directly at Ellie. She shrieked, laughing, hiding her face under her plaid sleeves. Bones howled again.

Dean chuckled. “Anyone got any spooky stories?” he asked, lifting a marshmallow from the fire and blowing the heat away. The scent of candy floss hung in the air even when the marshmallow was eaten.

“I might,” Max said, rolling up the sleeves of his pitch-black jersey sweater. “‘S about a woman who lived in Manchac Swamp... not too faaaar from heeeere.”

“Oh boy,” Alicia rolled her eyes. “He told me this, like, five times while we were packing.”

Sam shuffled in his seat, spearing five marshmallows at once, preparing for a good tale. Dean set down his bag of marshmallows so the plastic bag didn’t crinkle, and he could listen properly.

“So, way back in the day,” Max began, wiggling his fingers and bulging his firelit eyes, “turn of the last century... there lived a voodoo queen named Julia Black.”

“Julia Brown,” Castiel corrected, taking the toasted marshmallow Dean offered him.

“Depends what you Google,” Alicia said. “Could be Julia White, too. Whole rainbow’s worth of voodoo queens out there.”

“Ugh, let me tell the story, you’re ruining the _mood_ ,” Max complained, tapping Alicia’s knee with the back of his hand. “She was Julia Bernard until she married a guy. But Julia... she was a voodoo healer. A magic doctor. Way out here in the bayou, da’s a precious, rare thing to be. Hard to come by. Someone goes and gets sick? Either they gotta get to New Orleans – travel’s hard in those days – or they go to our lady Julia.

“And she was good at what she did. She used local herbs, she’d make potions and she’d deliver babies. She’d sing spooky songs, and she’d cast away the sickness. Whatever magic she did, it made people better.” Max paused to eat a marshmallow. “But one day, her husband died. And with all the grief she felt, she was never the same again...”

“Sometimes,” Alicia said, “Julia would sit on her porch, overlooking the swamp, and she’d go strumming on her old guitar. Singing—”

Max sang with her, “ _One day I’m gonna dii-ie, and take the whole town with me._ ”

The melody faded into the eerie gloom. The trees went silent, and the water only trickled at the banks; the swamp slowed to listen to a song it recognised from years ago.

“Every day,” Max went on, speaking slowly, quietly, making everyone lean in to listen, “some folks would come to her, asking for malady cures, for help, for her to heal them with her magic. They asked so much of her. Y’all know what that’s like, to be needed, and useful, but not asked nice, and not thanked right. She started to feel like they was usin’ her.”

“As time went on,” Alicia smiled, “Julia turned wicked. Like before, she’d sit on her porch and sing to strangers who went by. Only now she’d sing about whatever bad thing was about to happen to them. She’d scare old friends and people who didn’t know her, she didn’t care who.”

“But always, she came back to her old song,” Max said. He took a breath and sang slowly, in unison with his sister. “ _One day, I’m gonna dii-ie... and take the whole town with me._ ”

“She sang it more and more often. A curse! A curse upon those fools who’d asked too much of her, and never cared to say thank-you. _One day I’m gonna dii-ie, and take the whole town with me. One day I’m gonna dii-ie, and take the whole town with me._ ”

“And then...” Max grinned, head bowed, eyes turned intently to Sam, who listened with his mouth open – to Ellie, who sat with her shirtsleeves pulled over her palms, hands over her mouth – to Dean, who pushed his shoulder against Castiel for warmth and comfort—

“Then,” Alicia said, “On September twenty-eighth, the year of our Lord nineteen-fifteen, Julia sang her song one last time.”

The song bled through the darkness, lighting the shadows with an eerie flicker. “ _One day I’m gonna dii-ie, and take the whole town with me..._ ”

It echoed differently than before. Max and Alicia’s voices faded slowly, every word seeping through the night and into the ears of sleeping ghosts, all of them listening.

Max drew in a breath and sat up straight. Solemnly, he said, “And on that very night, Julia perished. As the townsfolk prepared her coffin the next morning... a great storm rose out of nowhere. Winds rushed in from the Caribbean, churning into a ravenous hurricane. In it swept, devastating the entire town, leaving only two people alive. Over three _hundred_ people were killed by that storm. And as the hurricane cleared the day after... Julia’s curse had come to pass. The town was gone, and so were the train tracks leading in and out. The day she died, she took the whole town with her.”

Alicia finished, “All that remains of Julia’s village is a mass grave of all who were killed. To this very _day_ , her ghost still haunts this swamp, along with the souls of all the people she took with her. The stories say she preys on people with hearts consumed with sorrow; she _beckons_ them into her world, hungry for fresh company.”

“Sometimes?” Max looked at Alicia, and they both smiled. “Sometimes people still hear her singing.”

“ _One day I’m gonna dii-ie... and take the whole town with me..._ ”

The swamp fell silent as the last notes dissipated. Nobody dared breathe.

Castiel parted his lips, and Dean turned his head to look at him. Castiel’s eyes settled low, his voice quiet as he said, “Julia’s story is true. This place, this swamp – it’s always been rich with spirits, and supernatural ongoings. I’ve never been hurt by one... and that’s the only reason I won’t demand that you leave. I don’t think they mean any harm. Even so...” He lifted his boot and crossed his ankle over his knee, showing Dean a sigil painted on the soul of his boot, an intricate star on the heel, and an eye on the sole. “I wear protections wherever I go.”

From around his neck, he pulled a tangle of talismans, each hanging from a braided leather cord. Dean saw different kinds of rocks, speckled, coloured, and clear. With a stern smile, Castiel slipped the necklaces back under his shirt collar, behind his bow tie. “Like I said, I’ve never been hurt. But my godmother warns me often. There _is_ danger here. And I do hear the singing.”

Dean gulped. “Heh.”

Castiel gave Dean a courteous smile. “Of course, you’re always welcome in the house if being out here scares you.”

Dean scoffed. “Psh! No way. Miss having a snapping turtle and mosquitoes nibble at me as I sleep? What a cop-out, jeez.”

“Hey,” Alicia said, “You got a bathroom in this house of yours?”

“I do indeed,” Castiel said. “I can show you the way now, if you want.”

Alicia stood up. “Anyone else?”

Ellie and Benjamin stood up too.

Dean sighed. “Oh, fine,” he muttered. “Not like Dean spent half an hour digging a three-foot hole or anything. You go use the _fancy_ bathroom.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sam teased from the other side of the dancing fire. “It’s not like you were over the moon about having to wipe with a leaf and not wash your hands.”

Dean pursed his lips, watching Castiel lead the three girls away.

Castiel led the girls down the easiest route back to the house. They walked on a raised platform made of wooden planks, that extended far into the dark, its surface grimy with plant matter. All around, the edges of the flashlight beam showed the acidic colour in the swamp, broken occasionally by the body of an alligator, or tree roots. Those roots grew bulbous in the water, the trunks slimming on the way up. Every gnarled, overhanging limb was weighed down with Spanish moss, some grey, some green.

Waterfalls of the moss tickled over Castiel’s hair and shoulders, but he only ducked when faced with a black, crooked branch at head-height. He carried his sword against his thigh with one hand, the other hand holding Dean’s flashlight. “Keep your eyes on the path,” he warned, sweeping the beam along the wooden planking as he stepped forward. “If you see lights elsewhere, ignore them. Don’t follow. The spirits will drown you.”

“ _Drown_ us?” Benjamin said incredulously, following a few feet behind.

“Yes,” Castiel said, looking back, pointing the flashlight at Benjamin’s neck. “ _Drown_ you.”

Castiel walked backwards for just long enough to see Benjamin shoot Ellie and Alicia that same disbelieving look.

“Believe what you like,” Castiel said, turning back to see where he was going. “But only one of us has lived in this swamp for years, and I know it better than you. These pathways over the water become a maze in the dark. Every turn leads somewhere else. Only the middle paths lead to the house.”

He smiled. “That house.”

The flashlight beam faded as he lifted it from the path. There, within a frame of bald cypress trees, the sight of a wooden manor emerged through the mist, gleaming white in the moonlight. Tangled branches hung against its walls, ivy creeping up the porch bannister and all the support beams, reaching so high that the leaves blacked out some of the windows.

“Sweeeet,” Ellie whispered. “Betcha anything it’s haunted.”

“It’s better than haunted,” Castiel smiled, leading the way off the platform path and onto solid ground, crunching leaves under his boots. “It’s _protected_. The whole place is shielded with sigils. Demon traps painted under the rugs, warding stitched in the drapes. That sort of thing. Every room has a secret door, and there’s a hundred places to hide...” He trailed off, realising something as he climbed the front steps, spying the carved pumpkins stacked at the top, candles inside still burning gently. “As much as I want to leave this place behind sometimes...” He glanced back at the girls, seeing their eyes brighten at the sight of a pumpkin face mid-sneeze. “It’s a pretty good place to live, really.”


	3. Spin-The-Bottle

“Easy, easy, there’s enough space for all of us,” Dean said, hands out to placate the kids as they squabbled over the cushions and lanterns. “Nobody’s gotta play musical chairs right now. Find a place and _sit_.”

Their rented dome tent was a dull grey-blue colour all over, tall enough for Dean to stand in – but only at the peak. The back section was zippered shut, with a ‘room’ of sleeping bags inside. After some kerfuffling, everyone settled down into a circle in what was essentially the living room of the tent: plain crackly sheeting over a lumpy ground; plastic windows with the covers rolled up, so the darkness could creep in as spookily it pleased.

The fire crackled on outside, but the citronella candles were placed closer to the open entrance of the tent, so their light painted the inner walls with a gentle orange flicker.

“Eyy, just in time,” Max smiled, raising his hand for a high-five as he saw his sister approaching from the edge of the clearing.

“That house is...” Alicia shook her head, grinning. “Imagine the _coolest_ old house. Then triple its coolness. That’s how cool it is.”

Castiel ducked into the tent behind the girls, looking pleased. “Alicia was particularly impressed by the carved gargoyles on the stair bannisters.”

“Damn right I was.” Alicia took the cushion Dean held up for her, and crammed it down between Ellie’s and Max’s.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, sitting up straight, giving Cas a small wave. He subtly gestured to the space left of him in the circle. “C’mere!” His eyes darted around to check if anyone else noticed.

When Sam looked at Dean knowingly, Dean cleared his throat and glanced down. But he still smiled as Castiel stepped over Ellie and Benjamin’s crossed legs to reach Dean. Dean squished up a bit against Sam’s side, making room for Cas. Cas’ warmth pushed against Dean’s hip and leg as he knelt.

“You comfy?” Dean asked quietly, as the others goaded Max to chug a whole bottle of ginger ale.

“Yes,” Castiel smiling, giving Dean a soft look. Dean tilted his head, grinning helplessly.

“Bottle’s empty!” Max exclaimed, before coughing at the sting of carbonated soda drunk too fast. He belched ferociously, wincing at the screeches of disgust that assailed him from all angles. Recovering fast, he set the bottle in the middle of the circle. “Who’s first?”

Alicia nudged her friend with her elbow. “Ellie. You go.”

“I’m not going first, you go!” Ellie nudged her back.

“Rock-paper-scissors,” Dean said. “Whoever wins—”

“ _I’ll_ go first,” Max said dramatically, one hand on his heart.

“Dean,” Castiel uttered, putting a hand on Dean’s wrist. “What are we doing?”

“Pretty self-explanatory, honestly,” Dean said, as Max knelt on all fours and spun the bottle; a cacophony of “ooooooooh” went around the circle, shrieks and laughter escaping involuntarily as the bottleneck pointed at each person as it rotated. Slowly, slowly, the bottle stilled, pointing at Sam.

Dean grinned as Sam slapped both hands over his eyes, a huge grin peeking through. The shouts were near-deafening, all jubilant and amused as Max leaned in, puckering his lips as he neared Sam. Sam backed up, as if fearful, but then broke into guffaws and swept in, grabbing Max by both cheeks and planting a wet, sloppy kiss on his lips.

Max backed away, fake-gagging and gasping for air. He sat back with a massive smirk on his face.

“Ah,” Castiel mused. “The perpetrator kisses whoever the bottle indicates.”

“Sure,” Dean snickered, dazedly admiring the wrinkle of concentration on Castiel’s forehead. “ _Perpetrator_.”

“There is a victim,” Castiel explained, gesturing to the spooked-looking Ellie as Sam leaned in to give her a kiss – only for her to turn her face so his kiss landed on her cheek. “Therefore the initiator is—”

“Noooo,” Alicia cried, almost collapsing backwards while everyone else hooted encouragements.

Ellie just gave a dastardly wiggle of her eyebrows, pushing into Alicia’s space. Alicia shoved Ellie’s face, trying to squirm away – but she soon laughed and bounced back, giving her best friend a kiss on the cheek. Ellie tried to go for a kiss on the lips, but Alicia hid her face under her arm, shaking her head. “No... nooooo,” she laughed.

“It’s voluntary,” Dean insisted to Castiel, under his breath. “They don’t _have_ to if they don’t want. But, I mean, we all agreed to play...”

“I didn’t,” Castiel said, eyes dashing around the circle, but returning to Dean. “I didn’t know what the game was.”

Dean licked his lips slowly. “Ah... Alright? Well. I mean – that’s fine! You can opt out. No big deal.” He rolled a shoulder. There was an unhappy weight in his belly, though. What if he wouldn’t get to kiss Cas now?

Grinning, Benjamin leaned across the circle towards Max. Max yelled into his fist, then moaned, “But I’m gaayyyy,” before rolling his eyes and letting Benjamin kiss him full on the mouth.

Benjamin backed away, all flustered, and retreated back to her side of the circle, hugging a spare cushion. Ellie gave her a pat on the back, and Alicia craned around Ellie to give Benjamin a fist bump.

As it was Max’s turn now, he spun the bottle for the second time, then burst out laughing as the bottleneck directed him to Dean.

“Whoaaa,” Dean said quickly, waving his hands. “Nuh-uh. Nuh-uh.”

“What, you scared I’ll turn you?” Max asked, sneaking closer as Sam fell over laughing between them.

“No— No, I just—” Dean’s eyes darted to Castiel, who watched with fascinated eyes. Dean’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Ummm.”

Max got close enough that Dean could smell the fake-ice-chill of his antiperspirant, and Dean screwed up his eyes and tensed all his muscles. But then – Max stopped. “Hey.” He met Dean’s eyes, giving him a lazy stare. His attention skipped to Cas, then back to Dean, something knowing in his eyes. “Dude. Chill out. I’m just messin’ with you.”

And with that, he backed away. Dean was left simmering with relief, but confused.

“My turn again,” Max said, swiping up the bottle.

“What— Hey!” Dean chirped. “What about me? Don’t I get a turn?”

“We didn’t kiss, so nope,” Max replied blithely. He spun the bottle, only for Dean to slap it still.

“C’mon,” Dean pleaded. “I didn’t get a turn yet. You all have.”

“Dean, Max said it,” Sam said, eyes cast down. “You’re... kind of too old. You’re in your _twenties_.”

“Wh... _Yeah_ , but—?”

Max snuck the bottle out of Dean’s hand.

Dean’s eyes turned to Castiel, sadness and longing overwhelming him. But he looked away as soon as Castiel met his eyes. Oh, fuck no. Cas had _seen_.

Dean’s stomach rushed with rising acid, bubbling with anxiety. The jeers and merriment in the tent faded in Dean’s mind; everything seemed kind of dull and blurry all of a sudden.

All of Dean’s emotions piled on top of each other, and he couldn’t comprehend anything except static and alarm. But within all the noise inside him, he could make out one fact, which punched him in the brain and heart and gut over and over again, its message loud and clear. Stupid game aside... definite heterosexuality aside... Dean kinda _wanted_ to kiss Cas.

Just... Just to see what it would be like, y’know? Just to try it. And knowing he might not be able to was killing him.

Dean let out a slow breath, hearing the shouts of everyone around him fade back into his awareness...

Only for shock to take hold.

“No, I’d like a turn,” Castiel explained to Alicia, who stared at him with perplexion all over her face. “I promise I won’t try and touch any of you, I’m really not interested.”

“Then what are you gonna do with it?” Ellie asked, as Alicia let him have the bottle.

“Just roll with it, guys,” Sam urged, shooting a fast glance towards Dean as Dean looked around, now on high alert. “Let Cas have a go. Just one round.”

Dean’s heart was pounding. He thought perhaps he knew what was about to happen, but he couldn’t be sure, and getting his hopes up would set him for disappointment, so instead he floated, in a purgatory state, fingers tingling, stomach churning, breaths hitching every second exhale...

Castiel looked at Dean carefully. Dean wet his lips, gazing at him and trying to erase the aching in his heart, the tension that gripped at him from his throat down to his loins. He prayed Castiel was about to be kind, not cruel. Dean’s attention slid to Castiel’s lips, unable to help himself. He was so pretty... and he smelled so good... and Dean could still barely believe the guy was back after so long, he’d missed him like _hell_ —

Having made a decision, Castiel set the bottle down in the middle of the tent, and spun it gently. The usual “oooooooooh” went around, noise following the single beady eye of the Jamaican pirate on the ginger ale bottle as it spun.

Gradually, the bottleneck eased around, doing its final spin.

Ellie. Alicia.

...Max.

...Sam...

Castiel stretched out a finger to push the bottle along a little more.

Dean.

Dean gulped.

The group in the tent went mad, all the kids leaping on their cushions, shoving each other. Max pulled out his phone, but Dean wasn’t sure what he did with it, as all his focus went to Castiel.

Dean’s heart had never thumped this hard before, not in all his life. He couldn’t breathe. His hands were sweating on his jeans. His stomach was... dizzy.

Castiel looked at him with immense tenderness. It wasn’t fair. Nobody was allowed to look so sweet. He didn’t smile, but he looked pleased. He gave series of half-blinks, delicate black eyelashes fluttering as he came nearer, pressing an arm around Dean’s lower back.

Castiel eased close enough that Dean felt his breath. It tasted of marshmallows. Ten years of nothing but loneliness, and now it evaporated, replaced by better things. Dean’s best friend with the rarest smiles; that funny, exciting, tingly feeling Dean felt whenever he and Cas roughhoused on a stranger’s living room rug; the security of not being alone to care for Sam. Here it was again.

Dean closed his eyes and let Cas kiss him.

The world went quiet and still for a little while. All the fireworks Dean had been expecting faded immediately. But that wasn’t a bad thing.

It was as if the smoke cleared. The clouds lifted. And through the emptiness, Dean could feel the soft twinkle of the stars. Millions and millions of little lights floated up inside him. But it was still quiet. Peaceful. He was not alone in the universe any more.

Castiel broke the kiss with a smile.

The rarest smile.

And Dean smiled back, peeking through half-closed eyes to see Castiel’s blue irises, darkened by pools of black.

Without warning, the world shifted. First in Dean’s mind. And then literally. Castiel’s hands pulled Dean by the lapels of his jacket, and down he went; Castiel lay below while Dean knelt above, peering down into eager eyes. Dean wasn’t sure what was happening until he felt another kiss. Soft on his lips. Hands curling in his hair! He let it happen, thrilled by the sensations.

All the chatter around him felt inconsequential. Of course he knew they were all watching, but why would that matter when this was _Cas_?! Cas wanted to make out with him, lying down. Dean set his hands on Castiel’s waist and held him, enjoying his width, the bulk of his frame all tucked inside his splayed-open dinner jacket. Silk lining was soft on Dean’s knuckles. Warm. Castiel’s kisses were rolling and... kinda smoochy. Dean was melting from the inside out.

He coiled his body tight to Castiel’s, pressing his semi-erection against the warmth. Castiel purred... then laughed, nosing Dean away just to give him bedroom eyes. Dean was beyond shocked. He was floating an inch outside his body, still mostly contained, but a fraction displaced.

Castiel’s big hands underneath Dean’s jacket seemed undoubtedly real, yet... how could he _know_ this was real when it felt like a good dream? Even Sam and the others, their voices seemed to have that haze Dean associated with semi-consciousness. Half awake. Not quite here.

Unsure what to believe, Dean just went with the flow. He let the pleasure override any craving for dignity he might have, and he let his skin blaze pink as Castiel kissed his cheek. He sighed, squeezing his and Castiel’s body tighter together as his heat built, and built, and built to a peak – then gushed from him, and he sighed in relief as it happened.

Wait—

Dean froze. Wide eyes. Lips parted.

Castiel took a moment to observe Dean’s change in behaviour, then pushed his head up so they could make eye contact. Dean gulped, fear and shock sitting like a concrete brick in his abdomen.

Castiel narrowed his eyes – and a moment later, determination tensed on his face. “Dean,” he said at normal speaking volume. “I need to talk to you outside. It’s... urgent.”

Dean exhaled.

“ _Now_ , Dean,” Castiel growled, as if annoyed. “Get off me.”

Dean scrambled back, afraid he’d done something wrong. Cas had wanted to make out— Hadn’t he? He pulled Dean down first?

“Ooooh, you’re in trou-ble,” Sam teased, elbowing Dean.

“Award for worst kisser goes toooo...” Alicia announced, fingers tapping in a drumroll. She laughed as Dean scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards the entrance of the tent, following Castiel. “Have fun out there, Dean!”

Laughter chased at Dean’s heels as he emerged from the tent, hot cheeks feeling the sting of night air and the immediate burn of the firelight. He ran a hand over his lips – still throbbing – and with his eyes turned to the ground, he strode off away from Castiel, making a beeline for the van. With a forceful hand, he flung open the sliding door and reached for his backpack inside.

He heard Castiel’s soft footsteps approaching. Head down, Dean unzipped his bag and started rummaging.

“Apologies,” Castiel began. “I couldn’t think of a good reason for us both to leave. I’m not... mad at you.”

Dean stilled. Relief sank down his body like he’d been bathed in pleasantly warm water. He said nothing, only gulped.

“That was my first kiss,” Castiel admitted. He smiled, eyes on Dean. He shuffled up closer beside him, keeping him company as Dean dug around for fresh underwear.

“Dean?” Castiel asked gently. “Do you recall— Years ago. We used to play a game together. It was our mission to care for Sam while the adults were busy. Only... we played pretending to be adults ourselves. Caring for our child. Do you remember?”

Dean angled his jaw down, jabbing his hand to the bottom of his bag, hoping he’d find soft rolls of cotton fabric.

Castiel smiled with a huff, then added, “You had me pretend to be your spouse, every time. Your... husband, I suppose. Even though we never called it that, did we? We’d get married, and adopt Sam. Then we’d build a house around him.”

Dean paused with his hand around a pair of boxers. He began to smile. He did remember. Face turned away, he swallowed. Soon he peered back at Castiel, gazing at him with all the fondness he had, all soft and shiny in his eyes.

“I think I knew then,” Castiel said, eyes on the ground. “I think I... understood that you had romantic feelings for me. Although I wouldn’t have been able to explain it back then.”

“Cas...” Dean swiped his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Look, man, that was ten years ago. It was a meaningless kiddie crush.” He grinned, exhaling a nervous breath. “Stuff’s changed since then.”

Castiel lifted his eyebrows in surprise. He and Dean met each other’s eyes, and froze for a moment. Then Castiel touched Dean’s neck, and without due warning, leaned in for a soft, soft kiss... a slow, untempered press, the tips of their tongues just nudging together. Castiel leaned back again, a smile on his shimmering lips. “Has it?”

“Ha...s? What?” Dean whispered. His brain drew big fuzzy blank.

Castiel’s teeth showed as his smirk turned to a half-grin. “Has anything changed in our time apart?”

Dean bit his bottom lip, bowing his head. “Uhm. Let’s just say I... got a problem I rarely had when I was eleven,” he muttered, waggling his handful of clean underwear to show Castiel. “Heh.”

Castiel squinted, then relaxed his eyes as he realised. “Oh. You... climaxed. That’s why you panicked.”

“Don’t tell anyone, all right,” Dean muttered, hanging his head. “Those kids would never look at me the same again.”

“I promise to remain mum on the subject,” Castiel smirked. He kissed Dean’s cheek again, making him blush. “I’ll stand guard, you change.”

“Thanks, bud,” Dean said, climbing into the back seat of the minivan. He sat down heavily and started to undo his belt buckle. At the door, Castiel’s silhouette shifted, his shape highlighted by the blazing fire. From across the clearing, Sam’s delighted laugh burst from the tent, followed by the voices of his friends.

Dean kicked his jeans into the footwell of the car, then began wriggling out of his boxers. His eyes skipped to Castiel, who remained steadfast, blocking the view to the tent, but not the firelight. “Cas?”

“Hm?”

“You gonna take a peek while I’ve got my pants off?”

Castiel shifted his weight. “I had no plans to.”

Dean felt a pleasant swirl course through his body, as he forced his boots through the legs holes of his clean boxers. “Well,” he said, “maybe I wouldn’t mind if you took a quick look-see. If ya want.”

For a number of seconds, Castiel did not. Dean thrust his hips up, pulling his boxers up to his waist. But just as he slipped his hand inside to tuck everything in, Castiel turned at the waist, curious eyes flitting to Dean.

Dean grinned, lifting the hem of his t-shirt to show off his navel. Castiel’s eyelids fluttered, lips parting. Dean snuck his shirt hem back down, giving his friend a wink.

Castiel’s fingers wriggled at his sides, and he turned his back again, quickly raising a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“Think I’m cute?” Dean asked, confident he’d get a positive reply.

“Hmm,” Castiel said flatly. “A little too muscular for my tastes.”

Dean baulked, hands on his jeans.

Castiel laughed, shooting Dean a reassuring glance. “I had no opinion on muscular forms until right now. You are... the epitome of... ‘cute’. Officially.”

“Officially,” Dean repeated, shucking on his jeans. “Cool.”

Castiel folded his arms, facing away once more. After a pause, and a hasty, unsure breath, he asked, “Do you think _I’m_... cute?”

Dean grinned, sliding off the car seat, boots back to the ground outside. He wrapped an arm around Castiel’s waist and rotated around him, swooping in to kiss his neck. “As a button,” Dean promised, smacking another kiss to Castiel’s cheek for luck. “A box of buttons. A button... factory.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, though he continued to smile. “Thank you. I think.”

“Welcome,” Dean said. He sidled up closer with his hips against Castiel’s, taking hold of his waist. “Hey, Cas...?”

“Yes?”

Nonchalantly, Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Would you believe... Heh. W-When you looked at me like you were gonna kiss me, I... I kinda realised... Damn...” He chuckled, embarrassed. “You were cute when we were four. And hands to God, you’re at least a hundred times cuter now. And _wow_ , dude, I am _not_ straight. Not even a little bit. Yeah, I call myself that but I... I don’t think I ever was? It’s weird that it’s not freaking me out. I feel like I should be freaking out right now.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Are you scared?”

“No.” Dean managed an easy smile. “Nah, I’m...” He pushed his lower lip up, smiling. “Happy. ‘Cause it’s you. And yeah, everything’s different forever now, but in a good way. You know?”

“Yes. I know,” Castiel nodded. His hands slid around Dean’s waist too, and they stood like that, appreciating the embrace.

But the moment Dean heard the slip of tent fabric, he leapt away from Castiel, screwing a hand in his hair, faking casual. Out of the tent came Max, holding his cellphone to use as a flashlight.

“Hey,” Dean called to him. “Where d’ya think you’re goin’?”

“Uhh, bathroom?” Max wrinkled his nose. “That’s still allowed, right?”

“Take someone with you,” Dean instructed. “Nobody goes _anywhere_ alone. I’m not kidding.”

Max sighed and leaned back to pop his head into the tent. He spoke a few words, and soon Sam followed, hands in the pockets of his corduroy jacket.

“Stay on the path,” Castiel warned. “Don’t follow the lights.”

Sam and Max shared a grin, then looked Castiel’s way and nodded. “Will do,” Sam called.

Dean watched them disappear into the darkness. “They don’t believe in monsters,” he remarked to Castiel. “In case you didn’t pick up on that tone.”

Castiel nodded, having had his suspicions. “Nobody ever does.”

“I do,” Dean said quietly, thumping his backpack on the floor of the minivan, making its contents settle. “C’mon. You know as well as I do. That supernatural shit’s real as you and me.”

With wary eyes, Castiel and Dean gazed at each other.

Dean broke into a laugh, shaking his head. “Jeez. Ain’t played that so straight-faced since I was eleven. Kinda missed it. Spooks and scares for shits and giggles. Yeehaw.” He reached to clap Castiel on the arm. “Man, our parents were total wackos. Thank God our generation got some common sense kicked into us, right?” With a grin, Dean dumped his bag and slid the minivan door closed, snatching up a packet of marshmallows at the last second. “Look – I brought extra. Want some?”

Castiel’s smile... at first, seemed uneasy. But on a second glance, Dean realised he looked fine. Castiel nodded, and Dean tore open the packet for a snack.


	4. A Library of Baloney

Max was taking _ages_ in the bathroom. So Sam wandered away from the locked door under the stairs, intrigued by his surroundings.

The house was, as Alicia had described, triply cool. From waist-height up to the white ceiling, the walls were clad with dark wood panels. Below waist-height, they were decorated with taupe paper with a gold pattern that reflected the dim light, and the movement of Sam’s sneakers as he ambled past. An ancient grandfather clock kept watch in the hallway, going _tick... tock... tick... tock_ as a pendulum swung inside its ornately-carved chest.

The first room off the front hallway was a library. Unable to resist, Sam trailed his fingers along the curiosity cabinets, mapping the edges of leather-bound books, smushed between heavy geode bookends. He walked his fingers across a detailed palmistry figurine, then over a taxidermy snake with glossy rainbow scales and unnervingly lifelike eyes – its head was drawn back, mouth open – before his fingers skipped to a towering bookshelf of antique tomes.

At the far end of the shelf, Sam leaned closer to the wallpaper, and discovered that the gold sheen made up a pattern: moths with spread wings, flying towards crescent moons.

He breathed out, astonished. “Amazing,” he remarked to Bones, who was sniffing at the rug. This was the kind of house he imagined whenever Dean talked about where they grew up, and where their parents held meetings. There was something spooky, magical, and mysterious aching in the walls, and Sam _loved_ it. He’d happily dwell here, even when it wasn’t Halloween.

With a grin, he turned to the shelf again, and ran his fingers along the spines. Bumpy, thick things – all of them. Blood red, black, mossy green.

He pulled out the first book that fully caught his attention. _The Banishing of Bad Spirits ; et The Summoning of Good Creatures_.

“Hm! Could use _this_ to get you to heel – huh, boy?” Sam muttered to Bones. Bones looked at him, panting happily.

Behind Sam was a scratched-up steamer desk with a leather top and gold edging. He lay the book open flat on its surface, grinning as he ran his fingers down the front cover. The title was embossed, probably by a hundred-year-old press. The gold in the letters was flaking away, but still shone in the chandeliers’ light.

As he turned to a random page, he smiled. He pulled up a chair – velvet-cushioned, dark wood carved around the top – and he sat down, careful to avoid Bones’ tail.

Each time he flipped another parchment-like page, his heart beat stronger and harder, in disbelief at how this could be real. Books like these didn’t even surface at the best thrift stores in the country. He’d never been to an antiques auction, but he’d chance a guess in thinking this book alone would garner _hundreds_ of dollars. This entire library? Millions, maybe. If an alternate-universe version of Sam had that kind of money to spend, he’d pay ridiculous dollar just to have what real Sam was experiencing for free, right now.

For beautiful, lengthy minutes, Sam pored over illustrations of hags, their fingers and crooked noses dripping with Spanish moss. Ghouls, stolen teeth pouring from their wailing mouths. Sam’s fingertips danced upon the indents in the paper. This was a hand-drawn illustration.

Shaking, he pulled out his cellphone and took a photo of the page he had open.

_A Spell:_  
_To Summon wild Animals in a time of Danger._

He grinned, looking at the photo on his screen. Rhyming text made up the block of the page, and Sam was giddy with glee. The screen quickly dimmed, going into power-saving mode. Sam shook the thing, frowning. He could’ve sworn he had a full battery an hour ago. Somehow, he had wi-fi signal. But airplane mode _was_ on. Weird.

He turned a few more pages under his hand, remaining riveted.

_A Spell:_  
_To Banish Spirits which mean ye Great Harm._

Before could read on, he heard a call from the bathroom. “ _Saaaaam..._ ”

“Yeeeah?” Sam shouted back, not lifting his eyes from the book.

“ _My phone diiiied,_ ” Max’s voice drifted faintly through the lower floor of the manor.

Sam sighed and stood up, pocketing his phone and abandoning the book. He looked around, not expecting to see any modern attachments, but was surprised to see a regular electric socket in the wall, with a floor lamp plugged in. “I found a socket!” he yelled back. “You got your charger?”

Max was silent for a moment, and Sam imagined that he sighed. “ _Nah, I left it in the van._ ”

Sam rolled his eyes. He gave the book one more adoring look, then skulked back towards the hallway, almost tripping on the corner of a Turkish rug on his way. “I’ll go get a charger, I need to charge mine too,” he called through the bathroom door. “I’ll be there and back in two minutes.”

“ _Okayyy,_ ” Max drawled. “ _Don’t let Dean see you._ ”

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled. “BRB.”

“ _TTFN,_ ” Max replied, a sing-song note in his voice.

Sam let his eyes turn back to the library, once again filled with glee at the sight. Before he and Bones stepped away to leave the house, however, Sam stilled in place. He peered at the top of a curiosity cabinet he’d admired before.

Funny... He could’ve sworn there’d been a taxidermy snake there a minute ago...

Dean looked up as the tent flaps parted. Max poked his face in, crouching at the entrance. “You guys. Look at the fire.”

Dean was the first to put down his playing cards and peer out, worried he’d see the flames spreading. But the opposite was true: the firepit burned low, the flames barely twitching from between the logs. Stranger still, it seemed to glow blue.

“Freeeaky,” Ellie said, pressing her cheek near Dean’s shoulder to see out. “It did that earlier too. Must be some unusual chemical compound in the wood. Copper glows blue.”

“Or it’s super hot,” Alicia added.

“It’s not that hot,” Dean said, shaking his head. “If it was blue-hot it wouldn’t produce all that smoke.”

“God, this place is bizarro,” Max said, bouncing on his heels as he remained squatted. “My phone battery usually lasts longer, but it died in a couple hours.” He waggled a shiny black brick the same size as his palm.

“Sam out there?” Dean asked, looking around the clearing.

“Probably,” Max shrugged. “Must’ve gone to charge his phone too.”

“What?” Dean squinted. “Where?”

Max seemed caught-out. “The house...” Hastily, he added, “He came out first! I thought he was coming back with the charger but he never showed! I thought maybe he got spooked and stayed here.”

It took a couple of seconds for Dean to process the words. “You... You mean he left the house. Alone. Without you.”

Max licked his lips, eyes darting to his sister. “Alicia, help me out here.”

“Whoa, no way, brother,” Alicia raised both her hands, bracelet flashing with reflected firelight. “You dug your own grave already.”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped, eyes down. “Shut _up_. Max – where is Sam?”

Though his skin was too dark for it to show, Max gave the impression he was paling out. “Uh. I— I don’t... know?”

“You don’t know,” Dean repeated, ice in his voice. “How can you not _know_? I told you, I told _all_ of you, nobody goes _anywhere_ alone. How am I supposed to—”

“Dean,” Castiel said gently. His hand on Dean’s shoulder quelled his fury within an instant. Dean turned his eyes to Castiel’s, and they shared a quiet moment. Castiel smiled reassuringly. “He’s likely still in the house. It’s a large manor. Perhaps he said he would leave but got distracted.”

“He doesn’t _get_ distracted,” Dean frowned.

“There’s a library,” Benjamin said quietly. “A big, fancy one.”

Dean relaxed. “Oh. Yeah. He’s probably there.”

“If you like, we can go check?” Castiel suggested. “To ease your mind.”

Dean gulped, eyes down. He hated being the weak one here. Overreactive. Overprotective.

Alicia made a soft, understanding sound, but her eyes flitted away from Dean’s the moment he looked her way. “C’mon,” she said to the others. “We can check out the house, can’t we! Dean hasn’t seen it yet.”

Everyone made cheerful noises of agreement. Hands reached for bags, phones – Benjamin left the tent first to get her phone charger from the minivan, confessing that her phone was dying too. She hadn’t turned it off in three weeks, and had no intention of doing so now.

Dean and Castiel left the tent last, Castiel holding Dean’s hand.

“He’s okay,” Castiel assured Dean, as they watched the kids gather their things and put their shoes on properly.

Dean swallowed hard, nodding fast. “Superstitious or not, he wouldn’t have wandered off the path,” he said to himself. “He’s fine.”

Last of all, Dean took his backpack from the minivan, since it contained items he might need: a compass, flares, an extra flashlight, a lighter. And a Snickers bar, just in case.

They left their campsite in a group. The fire flickered with such peculiar lethargy, and the ground was damp; there was clearly no danger of it getting out of control while they were gone. And so the blue flames burned on, alone.

“Saaaam...”

“Saaaa-aaaAAMM...”

Their voices were eaten up by the gloom. Creatures with glowing eyes peered at them from the dripping shadows, turning to follow their route as they made their way along the raised path.

“ _SAAAAM!_ ” Dean’s voice bellowed the loudest of all.

No reply.

“Don’t worry,” Castiel said again, tugging on Dean’s hand. “There’s the house. He must be in there.”

The wooden path ended and solid ground began; Dean walked at the back of the group, eyes cast over his shoulder to see the swamp behind them. Blue mist; gnarled grey trees, twisting finger-like up through the thick waters. Above the marshes, the silver orb of the moon hung lordly in the sky, beaming white outlines onto delicate branches and draped moss. A dozen pairs of alligator eyes lingered as Dean turned his back.

On the creaking wooden steps of the manor, pumpkins grinned and sneered, greeting Dean and his friends as they entered through an unlocked door.

The entryway was comfortably warm, padded with ancient rugs. The space was split in two: on the left was a darkwood staircase leading up, carpeted in the centre by a red stair runner; the right passageway led away to a distant room – but here, nearby, a pair of big doors opened out from the entrance hall...

“The library,” Castiel announced, as Benjamin and Max went ahead, converging on the plug socket, chargers at the ready. Dean’s jaw slowly dropped as he peered up, seeing two crystal chandeliers glowing above, their gold frames draped with dusty silk shawls, all drifting in the airflow from the front door as it closed. The crystals tinkled lightly.

Floor-to-ceiling shelves made up most of the room. There was also a giant desk dead centre, faced by a wingback chair. A window seat was visible on the far right, flush against heavy drapes that were drawn wide open. Dean could see the alligators’ eyes glowing out there in the marsh. Noticing what drew Dean’s attention, Castiel went to pull the drapes shut. Dean raised his eyebrows as he saw sigils stitched into the curtain fabric in white thread. He recognised the shape...

“Ohh, _Trouble_ ,” Castiel said annoyedly, storming past Alicia and Max, who fawned over an open book on the desk – storming past Dean, who turned to see—

“What a mess,” Castiel scolded, frowning at a wrinkled-up Turkish rug near the entrance to the library, where the contents of a glass cabinet had seemingly fallen to the floor, just beside a studded black armoire. Castiel crouched and began picking items up. A book, a silver vase, an old medal, a fern planter with all its soil displaced. “Haven’t I told you, Trouble? How many times do I have to tell you not to _slither_ on the shelves? No, don’t you look at me like that. It’s not _very important_. Hush. Calm down.”

Curious, Dean approached, and the others approached behind him.

But as he came within three feet of Cas, a sight startled him, and he froze.

A black snake sat coiled into a pile on the rug, half-buried under an upturned book. Castiel lifted the book and then offered a hand to the snake. Coiled up it was about half the size of Castiel’s head. Uncoiled – twirling up Castiel’s wrist, over his dinner jacket – it appeared alarmingly large. But then, hanging over his shoulders, it seemed small, barely enough to call a scarf. It lifted its little head, forked tongue flittering out.

“They’re friends,” Castiel said firmly, scowling at his snake. “If you even _joke_ about biting a single one of them, I _will_ stuff you. And then your little game won’t be so funny, will it? No, I didn’t think so.”

Dean gave Castiel a lopsided smile as Castiel turned his way.

“Oh—” Castiel started. “This is Trouble. She’s highly illegal, so please don’t tell any outsiders she’s here.”

“Is it—” Alicia peered out from behind Ellie’s shoulder, wide-eyed, “poisonous?”

Castiel chuckled, moving to straighten the wrinkled rug. “Not in the slightest. She eats small critters – worms, mice, bugs. But her personality, on the other hand—” He frowned at Trouble, who was hissing with great vehemence. “Will you stop? There is no such danger. We’re just looking for Sam.”

“Well, he’s not here,” Ellie said, folding her arms.

“Bathroom?” Max wondered, leaving the library. The door under the stairs was wide open. He returned, shaking his head.

“Found the kitchen!” Benjamin called from the far side of the room, most distant from the windows. She waved from a doorway, her angular form silhouetted by the kitchen light. “Not in here, either.”

“Upstairs, then,” Castiel said.

Dean expected the kids to stay downstairs, but they all followed. Up they went, in single file, Castiel leading the way. Every stair creaked; there was no avoiding it. Curious chatter followed the creaking: Dean heard the kids whisper Sam’s name, almost as often as he heard it in his own mind. He kept his movements slow, but his head was alive with panic. Fury. Fear.

He said nothing. There were two levels above, which they had not searched yet. Dean didn’t want to be the guy who declared the search fruitless before they were done.

An empty study. Worn-down rugs, an old chalkboard on one wall. Dean lingered, concerned and fascinated by the papers pinned across the room, stuck over the golden wallpaper. Newspaper clippings. Photographs. Red yarn, connecting segments. Part of this didn’t feel real. Too much like a movie.

Another bathroom, unoccupied.

A store room, which – judging by the layer of undisturbed dust – hadn’t been touched in years.

Stairs. More stairs. Fat little gargoyles on every landing plinth, tongues sticking out.

A bedroom, painted summer-sky-blue and white, decorated with colourful maps. Upon entering, Dean remarked, “Hm! Smells _good_ in here.”

Castiel lowered his eyes, smiling.

Dean quickly left the room to join the others, glad for the dark hallways, as he was blushing profusely.

Soon Castiel left too, shaking his head. “I don’t know why he’d be there, but I checked anyway. He wasn’t under my bed or in the closet.”

“If anyone’s hiding in the closet, it’s Dean,” Max mumbled, only to be rebuffed by his sister with a slap on the arm. Dean avoided eye contact with everyone until they reached the final floor of the manor: the attic.

This time Ellie went first, twisting the crystal doorknob and shoving open the door. “Boxes,” she said, pushing the door open all the way.

“Na-Nan keeps old things up here in case we need them again,” Castiel explained, following after Dean. “Half this stuff doesn’t even belong to us, really.”

The bulb in the attic had blown, so they explored with flashlight beams, walking slowly over wood that felt unsettlingly soft underfoot. The roof had a tall peak, grey beams supporting both sides. Dean ducked underneath a beam, heading for the porthole window on the far side.

Before he got there, he paused, interested by a strange item. A baby crib. Dusty. Mattress still inside.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked, easing against Dean’s side.

Dean blinked a few times. “Oh... Nothing. Just...” He frowned, setting his hand on the crib, then withdrawing, rubbing away rolls of dust from his fingertips. “I, uh. I could’ve sworn I’ve seen this before. That’d be crazy, huh. Probably just... bought from the same store.”

“Same store as what?”

Dean shrugged. “As the one Sam slept in at home, when he was a baby.”

Castiel slowly raised his eyebrows.

Crushing terror and regret and anger took hold of Dean, strangling him, curdling his insides.

“God,” he breathed, finding a nearby piano stool and sitting on it heavily, head in his hands, elbows on his backpack. “Sam’s not _here_. We’ve searched every room and he’s not here. This is my fault. _All_ of it. It’s my job to take care of him, I shouldn’t’ve let him outta my sight. Not for a second.”

Castiel inhaled, wavering unsurely beside Dean. His hand reached to touch him, but paused at the last second, distracted by Benjamin’s suddenly-shaky breaths from beside the window.

“Um? G-Guys...?” Benjamin’s flashlight trembled, one weak finger pointing out through the moonlit circle. “Look...”

“What?” Dean turned his flashlight pool to highlight Castiel’s chest, making the snake hiss in surprise. Standing up, Dean rushed to the window along with everyone else.

The five of them gave a collective gasp of shock. Benjamin only whimpered.

Through the porthole window, the world looked small and blue. The swamp rivers gleamed silver, reflecting the moon. But the lights Dean saw were not the beady eyes of the alligators. Nor were they the random flashes caused by gases escaping the water in bubbles. There was nothing natural about this sight.

Hovering a foot from the ground were a hundred fiery white orbs. They were spread out across the grounds, from the grass in front of the house, to where the surface of the water disappeared beneath the cover of the cypress trees. They were spaced equidistance apart, on the points of a diagonal grid. But it wasn’t a perfect grid; it was slightly wonky, as if each light had chosen its space with childlike estimation and clumsiness. These lights were round like eyeballs – and like eyes, they gave the impression of intelligence. Dean felt his skin prickle, knowing he was being watched.

Castiel was the first to breathe out. He swept backwards, barrelling the others away from the window. “Damn it, that’s _it_. We need protections. And weapons. We have books on this, it’s only a case of finding the right one. Marsh lights. Swamp gases. The spirits that invade on Samhain night. Ghosts. Downstairs, all of you. _Now_.”

Nobody argued. Shaking and stumbling, the kids backed away from the window and fled the attic. Alicia and Ellie left holding hands; Max turned back twice before making up his mind and leaving. Castiel took Dean by the arm and pulled him away.

Dean went dazedly. Nothing was real. This was madness. A hallucination brought on by Sam’s unexpected absence. That was all. It wasn’t real.

“ _All_ the way downstairs,” Castiel demanded, when the group stopped to gather on the landing. “This has never happened before, but I’ll be damned if I don’t know what to do. Nobody makes a _move_ without telling either me or Dean.” He led the way in hurried, heavy footsteps, one hand stroking his pet snake calm, the other sliding over the polished bannister.

Once at the base of the stairs, Castiel stormed to the front door, locked it, bolted it, then yanked a barrier out of a hidden corner. It rolled across the door on runners and slammed into place, where he locked it shut.

Dean felt chills in the pit of his belly as he saw the barrier was painted with the same sigil he recognised earlier on the drapes.

His fingers slid to touch the buckle on his backpack, slowly undoing it.

“We take refuge in here,” Castiel said firmly, redirecting foot traffic towards the library. “Max, Alicia, go to the kitchen and draw the shutters. Don’t forget the back door. Return immediately. The rest of you, remain here.”

He lifted Trouble from his shoulders and set her on the desk, where she slithered into a coil. “Stay out of the way,” he told her. Dean watched helplessly as Castiel shucked off his jacket, revealing an unpressed white shirt, thick enough that the pigment of his skin didn’t show through.

He darted straight for a short shelf, pulling out a heavy tome, locked with a buckle. He slammed it down on the top of the other open book on the desk, and unbuckled it with practised precision. Turning pages, he hunched over the desk with his weight on one hand. He paused to roll up his sleeves.

“ _Spirits of the Swamp_ ,” he read, to an enraptured crowd – which again included the twins, returning from the kitchen. “ _Since the ancient times, travelers have long been tricked from the paths by malicious spirits, and lured to their doom. In Scotland these spirits are known as the Will-o’-the-Wisps, and they—_ ”

“Wait,” Dean rasped. Castiel went silent, eyes lifting.

Dean’s hand took hold of his dad’s journal, and he lifted it out of his bag. He dumped the bag on an empty wingback armchair, all his attention on the journal. Heart in his throat, Dean opened the book at a tabbed page.

He set the journal on the desk, facing Castiel.

“This was the map I used to get here,” Dean said, fingers running over the ballpoint scratchings. His fingertips reached the bottom of the page, then slipped over to the second half of the two-page spread, and he rotated the book so he could read it.

“ _Spirits of the Swamp_ ,” Dean read, hearing his voice come from somewhere other than his own mouth. He was dreaming, surely. “ _Since ancient times, travelers have been tricked from the path by malicious spirits, lured to their doom. In Scotland they’re called Will-o’-the-Wisps, appearing in folk tales and local legends. They became the inspiration for the Halloween tradition of jack-o-lanterns, with a light inside a pumpkin or gourd, placed on a doorstep..._ ”

Dean swallowed.

The room was silent.

“This was my dad’s journal,” Dean explained. He lifted his eyes to meet Castiel’s. “It’s basically word-for-word.”

Castiel breathed out. “I— I don’t know why Missouri’s book is the same... Or why you have a map to my house...”

“Missouri?” Dean asked.

“My godmother,” Castiel said.

Dean stared. Then he bent his head and flipped to the first page of his dad’s journal. He set his finger on the first line. The first sentence. “ _I went to Missouri and learned the truth._ ” A queer smile flittered across Dean’s lips. He gazed at Castiel in sickened awe. “I thought he meant the state.”

Castiel’s eyes locked to the journal in Dean’s hands. He stepped sideways, walking around the desk until he came to Dean’s side. His hand reached up, one finger caressing a dent on the inside cover of the journal. Long ago, the leather had taken an impression, scarred by an object which was no longer there.

Gulping, Castiel left Dean’s side, pushing through the kids who had gathered behind them. He went to the same curiosity cabinet his snake had messed up, and picked up a small object. He returned with it, and showed Dean.

Dean took the old war medal and placed it into the indent. A perfect fit.

Dean was convinced his blood was flowing backwards in his veins. The world couldn’t be like this. Of course, it seemed so simple... “My dad... knew your godmother,” Dean said. “They must’ve been part of the same group. The meetings. The weird houses. Hunting... monsters.”

But it was not so simple. Dean had seen something he could not comprehend: ghost lights, standing in formation. And although nothing felt real, he knew it was. Like his father before him, he’d come to Missouri and learned the truth. It was all real. The monsters. The folklore. The cult meetings their parents frequented. It wasn’t some wackadoodle conspiracy theory any more.

Dean collapsed into the wingback chair beside his bag, journal open on his lap. Around him the kids started to natter, murmuring about rumours and theories. All of it sounded an awful lot like the things Dean used to hear through the walls. These kids found it easy to believe what they’d seen. Dean had had ten years to pore over this journal and come to the final conclusion that it was all a thick packet of well-spiced baloney.

But now it wasn’t baloney any more.

Now Sam was gone, and it was all real.


	5. The Hunt for the Winchester Brother

The manor’s lower floor became a hive of activity. Castiel gave commands, delegating tasks and instructions, and all the while got on with his own preparations. “The black armoire over there. Someone who’s confident with guns—” Ellie raised her hand. “Ellie? Please. Thank you. Benjamin, there’s talismans in that case, and there’s a book over there— We need protective spells, anything you think would come in handy against spirits.”

He disappeared to another room for a minute or so, and Dean felt lost during that time, sitting alone in his wingback while the kids raided the bookshelves and cabinets. But soon Castiel returned, holding a black cloak in his hands.

He spun the cloak to sit over his shoulders, and the heavy fabric seemed to flow in slow motion as it swooped and settled. It buckled up with two crescent moons back-to-back upon Castiel’s heart, connected by a cord. As Castiel turned, hastening for the desk, Dean saw that the back of the cloak was painted with that same symbol Dean had seen on the drapes and the barrier.

Castiel pulled a rolling ladder along the shelves, and climbed up two rungs to reach something. Meanwhile Dean pulled his dad’s journal into his lap, and flipped to the page of sigils.

The symbol Castiel wore, it was like these ones John drew, but it was not a perfect match to any of them. The great protective pentacle was not in the centre of a circle, but more of a flower, or an eye, with arrows leading outward...

Now Castiel had retrieved a black box from a high shelf. He set it on the desk, and Dean saw a pentagram painted on the lid when he lifted it. From inside the box, Castiel lifted a black cord, and from the cord dangled a single clear quartz point, attached with elaborate silverwork.

“Hello,” Castiel said. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’d like you to help me out with something, if you wouldn’t mind...”

Dean looked around. Ellie stood in front of the open armoire, slipping silver bullets into a silver handgun. Nearby was Benjamin, comparing a leather pouch to a picture in a book. Max and Alicia were arguing in the kitchen – Castiel didn’t seem to be talking to any of them.

“Is my name Castiel?” Castiel asked.

So Dean answered, “Uhh, yeah?” turning his eyes back to his friend. “I mean,” he scoffed, “I’d call you ‘honeybuns’ if the moment ever called for it...”

Castiel looked up, confused.

Dean gave a lopsided, unsettled grin.

“I’m calibrating the pendulum,” Castiel explained, with a smile. “It says yes. I needed to know we’re on the same wavelength, so to speak.” He hesitated, then added, “Please don’t call me ‘honeybuns’. ‘Cas’ is fine.”

Dean grinned at the rug, but his grin quickly faded. Soon he just stared, dead-eyed, hollow inside.

Sam was missing, taken by the swamp spirits. It was all Dean’s fault. Setting aside the fact Max let him go off alone, it was _always_ Dean’s fault. He should’ve been stricter. More concerned about the danger Castiel warned them of. Why couldn’t Dean listen? Why couldn’t he have trusted Cas?! Why couldn’t he have acknowledged that Cas _lived_ in this fantastic world, he knew the paths and the pitfalls of this place. Dean was at fault for passing it off as a joke. He was meant to have been the adult here. Yet all he did now was sit, head in his hands, while the kids got on with their jobs.

On the desk, Ellie lined up three guns. First, a silver one with floral engravings on the side and a pearlescent grip. Second, a copper one. Third, a dark shotgun that clunked down so heavily, Dean suspected it was made of iron. “Colour coded for our convenience,” Ellie said, patting the silver one. “Bullet metal matches the gun.”

“I found these,” Benjamin said, approaching Ellie and draping a necklace over her head. “It’s a protection bag, faaaairly certain it’s fresh. _Don’t_ ask what’s in there, you don’t want to know. Cut a lock of your hair and put that inside, then breathe into it – I think that ought to work.”

“What do you mean, _ought_ to,” Ellie said.

Benjamin pulled a shruggy expression. “It will. Magic isn’t like science, all about being exact, or perfect. It’s more about convenience and intention. This book recommends catnip for some hex bags, but peppermint’s close enough. So long as you’ve got an odd number of items and you’re not thinking bad thoughts as you put the thing together, it’ll work fine. Also! I need a pen, we can draw sigils on our skin...”

Dean stirred from his reverie. “I have a permanent marker,” he muttered, bending to get his backpack.

Max and Alicia marched out of the kitchen, arms full of packets and boxes. “Snacks for everyone,” Max announced, letting the food sprawl out onto the desk. “Ain’t nobody goin’ into battle against ghoulies on an empty stomach.”

Dean handed over his pen, and Benjamin took it, leaning close to Alicia to draw a pentagram on her heart.

Dean watched, slowly returning to full awareness. As they neared go-time, the adrenaline reeled him in, making him feel like he was burning up. Aggressive sensations rushed through him, and he kept himself grounded with a determined grip on the chair’s armrests.

This was it. They were going to go and rescue Sam from some horde of mysterious supernatural beings, and Dean felt the least prepared out of all the people in the room. But he didn’t need to feel that way – he knew things. He knew _plenty_. He’d read his dad’s journal cover-to-cover a hundred times over.

He figured he’d know what to do in the heat of the moment.

All the little jobs were done already. The kids were onto it. So what was there to do now, but pray?

The swamp gushed with the sounds of unseen wildlife. The constant trilling of frogs vibrated through the air, every call indistinct – until the chorus was punctuated by a single _rib-bit_ , deep and insistent. Water pit-patted down through the shadowy tresses of the moss above, its fuzzy shapes illustrated more precisely as a groaning wind eased under the canopies, lifting a stale stink from the water’s surface.

Each member of Castiel’s troupe carried a different weapon. Dean carried the delicate silver Colt; it was the only one that settled comfortably in his hands.

He and the kids had pentagrams drawn in marker on their hands, and wore talismans and gris-gris bags around their necks, like Castiel’s – for protection, to ward off evil. Dean could only imagine what kind of evil dwelled in this darkness. Before, he’d feared nothing except a wily alligator, or a mosquito bite. Now...? He didn’t know what to expect. Every shadow had a face. Every glimmer of light drew his attention, and he raised his gun, only to realise it was moonlight, sneaking through the leaves to dance on the choked-up riverway.

They’d left the house at eleven p.m. exactly, expecting to be attacked – but the lights they’d seen from the window were gone. Only a flicker of blue fire lingered, from their camp deep within the forest...

Now they searched, remaining conscious that they were leading themselves into danger.

Part of Dean had wanted to leave the kids back at the manor to protect them, but he’d seen enough movies to know that it was human nature to eventually wander off alone, or something would happen and they’d get separated. It seemed safer not to repeat the mistake he’d made with Sam. He had to keep them close, within his sight, and not waste time arguing about staying put. They wanted to come, so they came. Their friend was missing, and something spooky was afoot. They were almost as on-edge about it as Dean.

A short way out in front, Castiel led the rescue party with his pendulum. He paused at the turns in the raised path, and everyone waited as the crystal swirled, then decided on a direction.

At first Dean had thought it was senseless. Surely Cas was moving the thing himself, right? But the more turns they took, losing themselves deeper and deeper in the maze, he’d watched the process enough times to realise how steady Castiel kept his hand, how careful he was to avoid the wind. The pendulum would go completely still, and then begin to swing.

It was leading them somewhere. Dean had to trust that somewhere included his little brother.

“How could Sammy end up way out here?” Dean asked quietly, his low voice barely adding to the cacophony of frogs that dwelled this deep in the marshes. “He’s a sensible kid, if he got lost he’d stay put and yell for someone.”

Castiel’s eyes were drained of blue when he looked back; his face was a collection of pale shapes and shadows. It was only when Dean lifted his flashlight that he saw the gleam in his friend’s eyes.

“He didn’t get lost,” Castiel reminded Dean. “He was taken. All these riverways are connected. Wherever he was pulled under, it could take him anywhere.”

“Taken,” Dean repeated, weakly. “Taken by...”

He breathed out, then gulped. Hands together, he aimed his gun and his flashlight along the pathway, stepping carefully over slippery green moss.

“Do you hear that?” Benjamin asked, her usually-mellow voice becoming unsteady. “Listen...”

Castiel raised a hand to stop the procession. Together, the six of them tuned their ears to listen past the bellowing frogs, the _bzzzz_ of passing mosquitos, the chitter of crickets, and the occasional _hoo!_ of an owl.

Yes...

Yes, there was something else...

Alicia caught Dean’s fearful eyes, and they both held their breath. Listening.

_...ohh...ne... daaay... III’m..._

The song slid through the air, silencing the frogs as it came. The wind ceased. The crickets paused, unsure.

_...gonna di-iiee..._

“No,” Ellie said, shaking her head so hard her ponytail swept back and forth across the fleeced shoulder of her vest. “No way. That’s not—”

“Oh, shit,” Max whispered, taking his sister’s arm in his hand, shaking her. “Oh shit oh shit.”

_...aaa-and take the whole to-oowwn with meee..._

The swamp became absolutely silent. Not a drip of water, nor the buzz of a miniature wing. The trees seemed to hunch together, alligators glancing at each other nervously.

Then a frog ribbited, and then another, and another; within ten seconds, the wildlife relaxed, and returned to a comfortable ambience. But the humans could not.

“Ghosts,” Ellie said. “It has to be. Like in the story.”

“Julia got her revenge,” Max said, scowling. “She took hundreds of people with her, why does she need Sam, too? What did he ever do to her?”

“Ghosts sometimes prey on grief,” Dean said, before biting on his tongue. He’d read the sentence so many times in his dad’s journal. He hadn’t meant to quote it, it just slipped out...

Castiel’s eyes settled kindly on Dean’s, unjudging. “Sam was grieving.”

“Ou... Our mom,” Dean forced out. “For a kid Sam’s age, that kinda thing ain’t so easy to get over in just a year, y’know?” He breathed out, forcing a smile. He took a step forward, expecting to travel on, but Castiel hung back, so Dean waited for him.

Castiel turned his head to gaze at Dean solemnly. “And what about you? Are you still grieving?”

Dean avoided his eyes. He gritted his teeth and aimed his flashlight deeper into the dark. He couldn’t speak, knowing that every day, he was grieving harder than Sam ever did. And every minute Sam went unfound, the feeling of a fist crushing Dean’s breath from his lungs and squeezing the hope from his heart only became stronger. More overwhelming. All Dean could do was march on, leading the group.

Castiel soon caught up, one hand protecting his pendulum from drafts. He shot Dean a concerned look, but Dean kept his face steely, checking back over his shoulder to make sure all the kids were keeping up.

Onward they went.

Benjamin muttered to herself at every corner they took, memorising the pathways. “Leftleftleftrightleftrightright, third left, seventh turn on the right, right, right.” Dean had no doubt she was correct, and could lead them all back to the manor in reverse. Puzzles were her _thing_ , besides arcade games.

Soon they came to a crossroads on the platform, where the path was intersected by another, left to right. There were three directions they could go, so they stopped, waiting for Castiel’s pendulum to swing.

“The left one heads back to the manor,” Castiel explained, nodding in that direction. “It’s quite a distance away, but if any of you get lost here, just remember that.”

“How long is this gonna take?” Dean muttered, glaring at the pointy crystal, which was swirling in tiny circles. “Make your mind up, already.”

“Hush, Dean,” Castiel frowned. “You’ll distract it.”

With a tut, Alicia said, “There’s more energy movement at a crossroads, that’s why they have so much power in voodoo magick.”

Ellie scoffed. “When did _you_ get so woke?”

“There was a really cool book open on Cas’ desk,” Alicia said. “Max and I took a look while you guys were eating. There was actually this super helpful spell—”

“This way?” Castiel interrupted, confused.

“What?” Dean asked.

“It’s leading us left!” Ellie complained. “We came all this way for nothing—”

“Left, leftleftrightleftrightright – third left, seventh turn on the right-right-right, left,” Benjamin murmured.

“Wait, it hasn’t made up its mind yet,” Max warned, holding Ellie back before she went left. “It’s still spinning, look.”

Alicia made a noise of discomfort, adjusting the weight of the shotgun she held. The others began to talk at once, arguing about which way to go, while Castiel frowned and turned from side-to-side, trying to recalibrate the pendulum. The swamp surged with uncommunicative noise, voices drowning each other out, frustration and fear surmounting into snappy tones and whining.

All the while... Dean thought he heard something else. Something quieter. Gentler. Kinder...

_One day I’m gonna die..._

It seemed sweet, and melodious this time. There was no fear charging in Dean’s veins, he only felt soothed. He recognised the voice.

Young... male. Lovingly familiar.

He turned away from the chaos his friends made, with their harsh voices and guns and lights. Instead his eyes and ears sought refuge in the darkness. But, oh, it wasn’t dark any more. A pale, pleasant blue light lifted from a mid-distant point in the swamp mush, twirling like steam in sunlight on a Sunday morning.

" _One day, I’m gonna die,_ " Sam sang, giving Dean a forgiving smile. He shrugged, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

He stood upon the green water of the swamp, his form not quite solid. Both his skin and his clothes were translucent and blue, but the shine in his eyes was truly real. This was Sam. He was _here_.

Dean approached, not daring to rush. His heart was _pounding_ in his chest, threatening to break free of his ribs, desperate to press heartbeat-to-heartbeat with Sam. But he moved slowly. He stood with the toes of his boots on the edge of the platform path, flashlight and gun lowered, one in each hand. There was no need for light, as Sam glowed.

Voice barely a breath, Dean raised his eyebrows and asked, “What are you doin’ here, Sam? I... I told you not to wander off alone.”

Sam gave a sorry huff, bowing his head. He looked up again, something playful in his eyes. “ _One day I’m gonna die,_ ” he said, softly. His words were wrong, but his tone said sorry. Dean let tears rush into his eyes, and he managed a smile, so sad that it physically hurt him.

“You didn’t make it,” Dean realised. “No... This isn’t real...” He shook his head. “You can’t be dead. You can’t.”

“ _One day,_ ” Sam whispered. He came a step closer, still a half-foot below Dean as he walked upon the water. He reached out a glowing blue hand, stretching towards Dean. “ _One day, I’m gonna die..._ ”

“Dean!” Castiel called.

Dean reached for Sam, letting the tears fall from his eyes.

“Dean, don’t! Don’t touch him!”

He was so close. Dean dropped his gun and let his fingers spread, wanting to lock them between his brother’s, to feel his touch again—

Dean heard stomping footsteps, felt the wood beneath him shaking, louder, louder.

“ _One day I’m gonna die,_ ” Sam promised, once more – then his smile turned wicked, his eyes darkened to pits, his form became ragged and sharp, _flaming_ — “ _And I’m taking **you with me!**_ ”

Dean’s body was rammed out of Sam’s reach, and he collapsed hard on the path, winded. He gasped, frowning, bruised, and blind. The faintest streaks of colour still burned in his retinas.

“It’s a trick!” Castiel shouted, taking Dean’s head in his hands. “It’s a trick, don’t let it lead you from the path, Dean!”

“No, it’s him,” Dean insisted, pushing Castiel away, eyes searching for Sam. There he was again, floating gently on the water, kind eyes beckoning to Dean. “It’s _Sam_ , I know it is.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, kneeling in front of Dean, both hands holding his collar. “It is him. But he’s _gone_ , Dean. You have to let go of your grief or it’ll take you too. You’ll become like them. The ghost lights. The Will-o’-the-Wisps. Ancient spirits – poor souls led from the paths, doomed to prey on others so they’ll have some company. It’s not Sam any more, Dean. It’s not him.”

Dean shook his head, tears flowing freely from him. “No. No!” He shoved Castiel down onto the path and wrenched himself to his feet, stumbling to the other edge of the path. “I’m not grieving. I’m not – because he’s not dead! We can get him back. We can bring him _back_ , Cas.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, standing up on unsteady legs, reaching to grip Dean’s shoulder, drawing his eyes. “ _Dean_ ,” he said again, softly. “This apparition may look like Sam, and sound like him, but it’s your own memory you see. When you love someone, they linger in your mind, and your heart. Grief has power. It brings people back to you. Like you did for me, after all these years. But—” Castiel shook his head, keeping a firm hold on Dean’s gaze. “Ghosts deserve to be freed. Sam has no place here any more. Let him _go_.”

Dean tensed his jaw. “If he’s gone,” he said, drained by the effort of his own breath, “then I’m going too. I had one job, to look after him, and I’ve failed. Without Sam, I have nothing.”

And with that, he reached for Sam, and stepped off the platform and into the swamp.

He felt a ferocious jerk on his arm, yanking him back, one sopping wet boot drooling water across the path. Dean turned his head and saw Cas take hold of him again, mania in his eyes. He took hold of Dean and shoved him to his knees with immense strength—

A gunshot! The blast was deafening, chased by a second and third without warning. Disoriented by the sounds, Dean’s eyes drifted to the water, where he saw Sam’s form with two buckshot slashes and a bullet hole blown through him. Slowly, he dissipated, like the final wisp of steam from a cooling coffee cup. He was gone.

“No! No, where’d he go?!” Dean roared, clawing in mid-air at the uninhabited darkness. “Where’d he go?!! SAM!”

“There!” Max yelled, pointing at the other side of the path. Alicia shrieked, aiming her shotgun again. It clicked, empty of shot.

Sam’s blue grin was lascivious now, eyes gouged out, glinting with the shine of coins. His body staggered, glitching like a flickering flame or a TV screen, leaping forward by a few feet.

“Here!” Benjamin yelled, hand open to catch the handle of a knife Castiel threw her. Slash! Right through Sam’s chest. He vanished again...

“Behind Dean!” Max cried, and the team converged on Dean, just as he turned to peer over his shoulder. He smiled at his brother, at peace with oncoming death. Sam reached for his throat, fires burning in his eyes, melting the coins—

A bullet whistled past Dean’s left ear, cutting into the water with a _ploop_! The great echoing volume of the shot rang like gongs, silencing everything else. Shouts became bumbling noises, commands became incoherent. He didn’t know what was going on. All he wanted to do was fall back into the water and let the alligators take him under.

But a hand kept him grounded. Kept him still. Delerium remained, but some clarity crept in as he saw whose hand it was, curled around his wrist. The heat of Castiel’s palm and the pentagrams they’d drawn on each other reminded Dean that Castiel cared. He was keeping him safe. Doing what Dean had failed to do for Sam.

Refocusing his eyes, Dean saw his way to the crossroads, watching Alicia shaking a bag of white grains, pouring out a big circle onto the wood. Some melted into the moss, but most remained.

Alicia’s mouth moved but Dean barely heard her voice, only the demanding tone. Castiel heard her, though; he took Dean’s hand and tugged it, enough that Dean understood the instruction.

He got to his feet, and let Castiel guide them all together. In the centre of the wooden crossroads, on thick stilts above the haunted riverway, they took refuge inside a ring of rock salt.

Sam’s ghost flitted from place to place around the swamp, looking more and more disturbed by the second. Soon he was furious, and Dean was more certain: this was not Sam. Sam had no will to harm anyone. This guy? This guy was doing his best to hurt _Dean_. That wasn’t Sammy. That wasn’t Dean’s little brother. That wasn’t even a loving memory of him – it only stole his face.

Why? Because Dean was grieving for his loss...?

So if this wasn’t Sam...

A whisper of hope broke from Dean’s lips. “Sam... could still be alive...”

Only Castiel heard. His eyes became gentle around the edges; he seemed to be in understanding.

Although it was muffled, Dean registered the sound of Max’s voice. Only it didn’t come from Max’s mouth, it came from his cellphone. The phone was all lit up, screen facing upward. The speaker released a poetic verse, recorded earlier.

“ _—O Spirit of Hurt, O Spirit of Night; I banish you from my great light. O’er the ache that begs you kin, flee the flames that pull you in. Fear the holy beams I cast; this night on Earth shall be your last._ ”

“Again!” Alicia encouraged, as Max thumbed the screen to play the recording a second time. “Aim the lights at it!”

Benjamin and Ellie pointed their flashlights towards Sam, swinging them fast whenever he vanished and reappeared. Castiel took Dean’s hand, and Dean lifted his flashlight too, holding the torch at his shoulder. Wary eyes watched his brother skip from place to place, his ghostly form cringing at the old spell.

“ _O Spirit of Hurt, O Spirit of Night—_ ”

“Say it!” Dean suggested, turning his beam on the cruel creature that had tried to trick him. “All of you, say the spell!” He knew it by heart, it was in his dad’s journal. “ _O’er the ache that begs you kin—_ ”

Castiel smiled as he recited from memory too. “ _Flee the flames that pull you in._ ”

Benjamin picked it up quickest. “ _Fear the holy beams I cast—_ ”

Together, the six of them bellowed into the darkness, lights aimed the same way— “ _THIS NIGHT ON EARTH SHALL BE YOUR LAST!_ ”

Sam’s ghoulish face contorted as he wailed, clawed hands scratching at his eyes. In a whisk of the wind, he was carried away into nothing.

Slowly the simmer of the swamp returned. Frogs, chirruping. Owls, calling to their mates. Crickets, singing. Dean heard it all through cotton ears, still deafened by the gunshots. But he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Quickly,” Castiel said, squeezing Dean’s hand. “That particular spirit might not return, but there were hundreds more, we saw them from the window. Back to the manor, now. Hurry.”

“But Sam—” Dean tugged on Castiel’s sleeve, panicked. “If he’s not out here, where is he?”

Castiel pulled his pendulum from his pocket, holding the crystal in his palm. He turned his eyes to the path that led left, back to the house. Enlivened, he looked back at Dean and smiled.


	6. Panic Room

They returned to the warmth of the well-lit manor just as the grandfather clock in the hallway struck twelve. The melody of the clock chimes was interrupted by a thumping – a _thump-thump-thump_ ing – coming from within the house.

“Oh, God, they’re inside,” Ellie said, brandishing her shotgun like a club.

“That ain’t ghosts,” Max said, entering the library cautiously. The barking of a dog alarmed them all. “Wait, that’s—”

“Bones!” Dean breathed, rushing into the library, completely on edge, looking around but seeing nothing more unusual than Trouble the snake hanging by her tail from the chandelier. “Here boy!” Dean whistled lightly.

“ _I’m here!_ ” came a shout, along with more thumping. “ _Dean!_ ”

The barking was just as muffled as Sam’s voice. Dean broke out in a sweat, enlivened at hearing his brother, but maddened by the fact he couldn’t see him. “Sam— Sammy! Where are you?!”

“ _I— I don’t know! It’s dark! It’s— Bones, shh. I think I fell? There’s barrels of something, and – and a generator..._ ”

“Pull the rug back,” Castiel instructed, divesting himself of his cloak and draping it over the wingback chair. “Roll it up. There’s a door underneath.”

Dean scampered off the massive Turkish rug just as Max and Benjamin did as Castiel said, soon aided by Alicia and Dean himself. The pile was thick, and the underside matting was stiff, but with all of their efforts combined, they rolled the rug into a tube.

“No _way_ ,” Alicia breathed, as together they revealed a trapdoor in the wooden floorboards. It had no handle, only a dip for someone to put their fingers. Castiel did so, and _heaved_ upwards.

It took him a couple of tries; the door was clearly weighty. As soon as it rose few inches, Dean knelt down and crammed his hands in, lifting with all his strength. With a great grunt and a sigh of relief, they got the door flipped open onto the rolled-up rug.

Miraculously, a squinting Sam Winchester poked his head up through the gap.

“ _Sam,_ ” Dean whispered, wrapping both arms around Sam’s neck. “Oh my God, you’re alive. You’re alive.”

“Did you think I was dead?” Sam patted Dean unsurely. “Wow. How long was I out?”

“About three hours,” Max smiled, crouching to pat Sam’s shoulder, while Dean continued to squeeze. “It’s a long story, but... _man_ , I’m so... I’m so damn sorry I let you go off alone.”

Sam gave Max a confused look.

Finally Dean leaned back, both hands gripping Sam’s shoulders. Dean sniffled, his mouth all wobbly, slowly breaking into a smile. But a moment later, he scowled. “What the _hell_ , Sam,” he grumbled, pulling Sam farther up the ladder so he could stand in the library again. “Why’d you do that to us? To _me_? You had one rule: don’t go off alone.”

“I didn’t!” Sam said. “Bones was with me! And I barely got anywhere before—”

He became unsettled, lips parting as his eyes shifted about. Max and Ellie kindly lifted Bones out from the secret room and set him down on all four paws. Bones stood, shaking, tail tucked between his legs. Feeling sorry for him, even Benjamin knelt down to give the dog an ear-waggle.

“What?” Dean said, noticing Sam’s discomposure. “What happened, Sam?”

Sam gulped. “Well... You’re not gonna believe it. I don’t know if I should—”

“You met a ghost, didn’t you?” Ellie said, rolling her sleeves up again. “This place is triply cool, and triply haunted. So what’s new? _Spill_ already.”

Sam gawped at Ellie. But he quickly nodded, eyes darting to Dean, who refused to let go of him. “I left the house. Bones followed – we were just heading towards the camp, I could see the fire through the trees. We’d just reached the start of the path, where the ground meets the wooden thing over the swamp...”

Dean allowed Sam to sit in the wingback chair, which Castiel had pushed a little closer. Trouble plopped down onto the desk from the chandelier, and scooted into what was presumably a comfortable position, nestled between books. The other kids stood around, slowly finding places to sit or lean. Dean remained upright, arms tightly folded. Castiel listened from the back of the chair, one hand holding its ornate edge.

Sam let out a breath, reaching to stroke Bones’ ears before continuing. “Bones started barking, just as I met someone on the path. Someone I... I haven’t seen in a... a long time. She was exactly the way she looked the last time I saw her – wearing a white dress, and her hair was long, and it kinda seemed to glow in the moonlight. I thought she looked... _really_ beautiful—”

“Mom,” Dean whispered, arms unfolding.

Sam caught his brother’s eyes. “What? No! Jess. From high school. We were gonna go to Stanford together.” As Sam went on, Dean maintained a stunned silence. “She was kinda... leaning over the edge of the path, like she was looking for something. And I was just so happy to see her, you know?” He smiled, eyes glazed. “God, I missed her so much. I asked her what she was looking for – I decided to go for a casual thing, no big deal. Maybe she hadn’t noticed it was me. I imagined she’d look up and go all starry-eyed, and we’d hug or something—”

Sam went quiet, noticing Dean’s eyes on him. He shrugged, averting his gaze to Bones. “She said she dropped her friendship bracelet. You know,” he lifted his wrist, waving the one he wore, “the one I make all my friends.” He hesitated, though. “But, now I think about it, I don’t think she spoke at all. It was sort of implied. Because I noticed she didn’t have the bracelet on, so I guess it was... obvious. So got down on my hands and knees and we looked into the water together.

“I could see it. A sparkly thing, just shining between the mush on the top of the swamp. I figured it was floating under the surface. I said I could get it, and I reached my hand in. Except – you’re gonna think I’m a complete doofus now – it was just the reflection of the moon. And then my hand was all gross.”

Benjamin snorted, making Sam smile.

“So Jess reaches in too, leaning further across the water. I grabbed for her quickly, I was worried she’d fall in – but she pulls her hand back. And it’s _clean_. And...”

Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe it took me until then to even realise. She’s still in Kansas! Of course she’s still in Kansas. Why would she be here, in the middle of nowhere, on Halloween night? Everything sort of fell apart. Once I realised she couldn’t be here, next to me, I started to ask her why she was here, _how_ she was here – Bones was barking his head off, he had the right idea – but the moment I get the question out, she turns on me.

“Her eyes... They didn’t look right. And I finally saw that she wasn’t reflecting moonlight, she was _blue_. And – God, I freaked out. I grabbed Bones’ collar and turned back for the house. We ran together – I knew Jess was chasing me—”

Sam began to breathe erratically, and folded forward, both hands over his mouth and nose, eyes wide with recollected terror. Castiel set a comforting hand on the hood of Sam’s hoodie, squeezing his shoulder through it.

Shaking his head, voice trembling, Sam lowered his hands and continued. “I ran into the house, slammed the door behind me. She couldn’t walk through walls like ghosts can in movies. So she waited on the doorstep – and she didn’t look like a person any more, she was all... ghoulish, and twisted, and dark. I ran in here, to the library – Bones was at my heels.

“I called for Max. But the toilet flushed right that second, he wouldn’t have heard me.”

Max gave Alicia a sheepish look.

“I just—” Sam rubbed his hands over his knees, forward and back. “I didn’t know how to fight a ghost. Surrounded by books on the subject and I had nothing. I never memorised Dad’s journal like Dean did.” He seemed so at a loss; Dean wandered forward, crouching at Sam’s knee.

“Then what?” he asked gently.

Sam gulped. “It all happened so fast. Right after I called and Max didn’t hear – _boom!_ – all the doors in the house _burst_ open.”

Max gasped. “ _That’s_ what that was? I yelled ‘Hey! Occupied!’ – I thought it was the wind, since nobody was waiting outside the bathroom door.”

“Jess came inside,” Sam said quietly. “She shot right for me. Floating. Glowing blue. Bones was whimpering, backing up right along with me. She – touched me,” he murmured, rubbing his hand over his heart. “And then, whoosh, the ground vanished. I must’ve hit my head, got knocked out...” He pressed his lips together, unsure. “I didn’t know what happened, or where I was, or anything.”

“You fell into the panic room,” Castiel said, nodding to the trap door. “There’s protective sigils on the door frame; the Wisp wouldn’t have been able to get in, even if the door was wide open.”

“The bathroom door slammed shut again,” Max said, looking from Castiel to Sam, then back again. “Almost squished my dang fingers. It was like someone shoved it. When I left the bathroom, everything looked normal. The front door was shut too. I don’t remember how the rug was, I didn’t check. The ghost probably gave up and left when she couldn’t get to Sam in the panic room, huh.”

“I woke up in the dark,” Sam said. “But... I couldn’t move. It wasn’t that I was hurt, exactly, I was just... weak. Too tired to move or call out.”

“Ghost sickness.” Castiel set his jaw, eyes moving to meet Dean’s. “People can suffer from it after physical contact with a spirit. There’s various forms the sickness can take, sometimes it presents as intense fear, followed by physical symptoms which... escalate in terms of unpleasantness. But the Will-o’-the-Wisp is not a true ghost. I suppose it follows that the symptoms after contact are slightly different. Temporary fatigue. Weakness.”

Sam rolled one shoulder, face halfway turned towards Castiel. “Bones was the same. He started whimpering after a while, and all I could do was put my hand on his head. He loves underground spaces, usually. Just not _that_ one.

“When I had some energy I pulled out my cellphone – the battery was at four percent but it was enough to look at a photo I took earlier. A spell from a book. To summon animals in a time of danger. I thought I heard a crash, but I guess it was a bust, since nothing happened.

“Not long after, I could hear you guys, somewhere close. I could hear your voices. Apparently it took me _hours_ after that to recover enough to call out, and start knocking on the walls. Nobody responded, so I gave up after a while. But then Bones started barking – you all came back from wherever you went. And that’s when you found me.”

“Okay,” Dean said, touching Sam’s knee, “This is all... _great_ ,” he got to his feet, “but dammit, Cas, why didn’t you _tell_ us about the panic room? We searched the whole house top to bottom, and you didn’t think to check the one perfect hiding place? What the hell, man?”

Castiel spread his arms, looking frustrated. “I didn’t think it was possible for him to be there! What kind of stranger visits someone’s house for the first time ever, and immediately discovers a secret room?! And then doesn’t respond when people call for them? I don’t doubt Sam is exceptionally intelligent, and could’ve made the discovery. But the rug was pulled back into place, for one thing—” He paused, and his mouth slowly fell open. “Oh.”

“You put the rug back yourself,” Benjamin said, not looking up from the book she was looking at. “And your snake familiar _did_ try and tell you, you numbskull.”

“Hey, language,” Dean chided. “Nobody gets to insult Cas but me.” He gave Castiel a disappointed look. “Your snake _did_ tell you, man.”

Castiel sagged. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Sam. I never realised... Trouble...” Castiel looked over at the desk, where Trouble lounged between open books, zig-zagged against their edges. With a sigh, Castiel reached for his snake, lifting her to his shoulders. “Forgive me, my friend. I should’ve listened.”

Trouble hissed, turning up her nose. But she remained around Castiel’s shoulders, tail curled against his heart.

With another sigh, Castiel returned to Sam’s side. “Please... I hope you’ll accept my apology. There was no excuse for this besides vain ignorance. I thought I understood Trouble’s message perfectly, and I never considered that I perhaps didn’t. She was responding to your spell, warning me of danger, and I dismissed her. Perhaps self-doubt is... more valuable than I realised.”

Sam gave Castiel a smile. “You’re kidding, right? Cas, you’re upset you couldn’t translate Parseltongue with a scholar’s accuracy? Dude, don’t worry about it. Luckily I got nothing worse than a bumped head and a bruised backside.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean said gruffly, “the rest of us didn’t have such a fun time.”

With raised eyebrows, Sam slowly got up from his chair. “What happened with you guys?”

Dean released his folded arms yet again, shaking his head. “A lot. But just—” His frown softened, and he gazed at his brother with love in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Sammy.” He took Sam in his arms and squished him to his chest, heartbeart-to-heartbeat. Quietly, as if they were talking in private, Dean murmured, “Man... I gotta ask...”

“What?” Sam said.

Dean pulled back, one hand cupping Sam’s jaw. “Why are you grieving for _Jess_? She’s still alive, back in Kansas. I would’ve thought... Mom...?”

Sam removed himself from Dean’s touch, sad eyes drifting to his friends, who listened for his answer. They’d never known Jess, but they knew _of_ her, and they knew they’d all get along, should they ever meet. They all wore the same bracelet; they already had Sam’s love in common.

“I miss my friends,” Sam said simply, looking back at Dean. “We pack up and we move on, and I end up leaving people behind. They— They help, you know? These guys have kept me sane, these last few months. Jess helped _so much_ after we lost Mom. But... for me it hurts just as bad to leave friends behind as it does to lose them completely.

“Moving on helps _you_ , Dean. You just wanna leave the sadness and drive away.” He looked at Dean sternly. “What _I_ need is to stay in one place. Be sad. But then find happiness again, in the same place.” He gazed around at the circle that surrounded him. Max, leaning against the desk. Alicia, holding Ellie’s hand. Benjamin, clutching a book to her chest. Castiel, gazing at Dean. Sam swallowed, turning back to Dean. “I have good friends here. The best I’ve ever had. For once in my life, Dean, I want to stay put.”

Slowly, a smile crept onto Sam’s face. “And now I mention it... _here_ would be a pretty cool place to stay. Hint hint.” He elbowed Dean, then turned his grin towards Castiel, who smiled widely and warmly.

But Dean licked his lips and backed away. “Sure,” he said carelessly. “Totally. Super cool place.” He cleared his throat, and went over to the desk. “Hate to break it to ya, though, but we got a couple hundred Samhain spirits to deal with before we can think about settling down. Not even to sleep.

“If what you said earlier is anythin’ to go by, Sam, tonight the portals to other realms are wide open. One good magical punt oughta send them packing. Right?” Dean glanced at Castiel for confirmation, and was rewarded with a firm nod. “So get to it, y’all. Find a book and start reading. We got ‘til sun-up to find a good spell. Or else Sam get his wish: we’re all stuck here forever, surrounded by a teeming river full of bad memories that won’t let go.”


	7. Wisps, Wasps, and Grief Jelly

The night wore on, and the minutes slipped by, seemingly unnoticed. Each and every person in the library began their search for a spell that could rid the swamp of Wisps, and for a long time, they worked with purpose and determination.

Alas, as post-midnight turned to one, then one-thirty, individuals were stolen away by slumber.

Sam was the first to go, and nobody blamed him. He slumped back in the wingback chair, mouth open, a heavy tome open on his chest, his dog snoozing at his feet. He only snored quietly.

Though Ellie’s parents allowed her the freedom to learn to shoot guns, and ride horses, and take off with her friends for the weekend to a place with barely any cellphone coverage, they were still strict about bedtimes. She didn’t often stay up past eleven, so when two a.m. rolled around, she no longer noticed that her eyes were drooping shut, and within minutes, she was fast asleep, one arm outstretched across Alicia’s lap.

Alicia and Max read in silence, turning pages like the study fiends they were. But even so, once Alicia was trapped under Ellie’s arm, and had no incentive to get up and walk around, it was all too easy to drift off, neck resting on the plush backrest of the couch.

And once Alicia was asleep? Max figured... maybe a little nap...

Dean looked up from the six books he’d spread out across the desk, smiling to himself. “Naww,” he muttered. “Babies.” He turned his face towards Castiel. “Looks like it’s just you ‘n me, Cas.”

Castiel dragged the heel of a hand across his twitching eye, humming a dull note. He sat at a right-angle to Dean, trying to force his brain to work. The caffeine in the steaming coffee mug curled in his hand hadn’t hit him yet.

“You still ticking?” Dean asked, looking over Castiel’s flaccid form in concern.

“Completely,” Castiel said, blinking hard, dragging himself more upright. “This _is_ what makes me tick.”

“What is? All-nighters?”

“Hunting,” Castiel said, turning a page, holding a golden magnifying glass up to the text. “Researching with a goal in mind, to do some good. It’s what I’ve wanted for years, ever since my parents left this realm, and I learned what they really did.” Thoughtfully, he added, “I suppose they kept their pastime a secret to protect me from having to do this. Like your parents did for you.”

Dean gave a tense smile. “Mom left Dad’s journal to me when she went. I think she intended for me to do what I did for the ten years since Dad died – just enjoy it as kooky memorabilia. But if the time ever came, if the need arose, it could be used like this too. Staying up all night, scouring the pages for a secret message, finding a way to gank something that shouldn’t even exist.”

“Who says the Wisps ought not exist?” Castiel squinted. “Every being on the planet has a purpose. Some destinies may be more conceptual than others, granted. But... these creatures haunt the living, preying on those who are too hung up on the past to find the will to live. Do you not see the value in that, in the greater scheme of things? In theory, they make the world a happier place, by ridding it of its grief. Perhaps the manner in which they do it is unusual, and uncomfortable, but ultimately they have a right to exist as much as, say, wasps do. They take away what’s already dying. Make room for new life, and hope. Wisps and wasps are alike in that sense.”

Dean stared at Castiel, dumbfounded.

Castiel returned a sheepish smile, lowering his eyes. “I’ve had a long time alone to think. I take comfort in knowing I have a purpose, like everything and everyone else. I have yet to discover what my purpose is, however.”

Dean hummed a laugh. “I know what mine is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Take care of Sammy.” Dean ran a finger down a page, not reading, just staring. “I gotta be his parent. That’s _all_ I gotta do. Just be whatever he needs me to be, and get him where he needs to be in life. Cool as hunting sounds – like, hunting actual _monsters_ – it ain’t part of the job description. Unless some creepazoid with drooling fangs comes sneaking in the motel window at night, I’m leaving the stakes and crosses to someone else. I just gotta hustle pool, find the good motels, and save up for wholewheat bread. That’s my purpose.”

Castiel peered at Dean’s fingertips, watching him fiddle with the page corners. “Does it make you happy?” Castiel asked.

“Happy?” Dean repeated, meeting Castiel’s eyes.

“Does caring for Sam bring you joy?”

“Well... yeah.”

“So there’s nothing else in the world you’d rather do than hustle pool, live in motels, and buy wholewheat bread.”

Dean’s mouth slid part-way open. “I mean...” He shrugged a shoulder. “C’mon, I’m twenty-one. There’s a million-and-a-half things I could do. College. A community-college night class, at least. Get a proper job, get experience. Go travel, for real – not just motel to motel every couple months. Go... hunting. But, like, what’s even the point in hoping? I don’t need that crap to live. That shit ain’t for me. So.” He shrugged again. “I’m fine with things how they are.”

Dean felt Castiel’s gaze on his forehead, but he didn’t look back, unwilling to see his concern. He’d seen plenty of _that look_ , from everyone – from bank tellers to veterinarians to the pastors at the local churches. As grown-up as Dean felt, and as mature as thought he looked in the mirror, he was still childhood-adjacent in the eyes of most older people. Sam was a perfectly capable human by himself – and in both chronological years and legally, he was almost an adult. But he wasn’t... _done_ yet. He was still a fetus, in Dean’s eyes. And Dean knew all too well that the four years’ head start he got was barely anything.

“Do you ever feel like it’s too much?” Castiel asked, his voice quiet. “Do you ever feel like, perhaps it would be easier if—”

“No.” Dean spoke bluntly. He wouldn’t give up his purpose for anything. He scowled at Castiel’s unravelled bow tie, bristling at the fact Cas even thought to _suggest_ it. “I’m not leaving Sam. Not ever.”

But Castiel smiled. “I was going to ask if you ever considered asking for help.”

Dean gulped, eyes cast down. “Ain’t nobody to ask.”

“Missouri,” Castiel said. “She would help you. And I would, too. We’re family, Dean. We can support each other.”

When Dean remained silent, and sullen, Castiel leaned in closer, setting a warm hand over Dean’s wrist, fingers on the permanent-marker pentagram. “You assumed I’d tell you to leave Sam? Why?”

Dean glanced at him. He shrugged yet again. This time he was speechless. His answer floated inside his mouth, and his tongue tried to elocute his reason, but it was too hard. _Sometimes I wonder what it would be like without him..._

He hated himself for even thinking it, as he had every other time.

Furiously, he chewed on nothing, blinking away sudden warmth in his eyes. With a sharp inhale – which was _not_ a sniff – he wrenched his wrist away from Cas, curling up his fingers. “We better – knuckle down. Unless we find somethin’ we’re stuck here for all eternity.”

Castiel’s brows twitched. “You said that earlier, too. What gives you that impression? The Wisps may attempt to drown us again, but once the sun rises they’re likely to go back into hiding. I’ve never seen them so active. It’s Samhain night, that’s all.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, scrutinising Castiel’s perplexed face. “Haven’t you seen the signs? On the way in here, there’s one that says ‘ _you will never leave this place, turn back_ ’. And another one said ‘ _beware_ ’ all spooky-like on the tree trunks. I’ve seen enough movies to know people don’t put up signs unless they mean ‘em.”

Castiel was smirking by now, though he seemed somewhat ashamed.

“What?” Dean demanded, mirroring his smile.

“Um,” Castiel scratched behind his ear. “Those were actually...” He fidgeted, then his shoulders sagged, and he cast his eyes away, looking guilty. “You stay cooped up in one place long enough, you start to feel... trapped. Like a prisoner. It seemed like the thing to do to warn others away. Perhaps you might consider them as... art pieces.” He glanced back at Dean, smiling reassuringly when he saw Dean looking agog. “The ‘ _beware_ ’ one was about the alligators, though. It’s purely bad manners to let people wander into danger, even if they intended to murder us with axes, or steal our couch.”

Dean managed a lopsided smile.

“Although,” Castiel said secretively, “I don’t hold it against you, thinking this area has some supernatural hold on its visitors. At the very least, there’s some force around here which leeches electrical power. When I was still doing schoolwork, I had to do my math workings long-form a hundred percent of the time, because you can’t plug calculators into the mains. We have an underground generator that runs twenty-four seven. Another one in the panic room.”

“Guess you’re not a laptop guy, huh.”

“I’ve never had one, no,” Castiel said. “I hear the Internet is fun these days.”

“So fun.” Dean gazed at Castiel with something akin to pity needling at his heart. “When was the last time you left the swamp?”

“Aside from the zombie fire brigade incident?” Castiel looked up, squinting one eye as he counted. “Two years. Oh – and I went out to buy chocolate milk once. Took me four hours on a bicycle.”

“Why?” Dean urged, almost under his breath. “Why don’t you leave? You asked me what I’d rather be doin’. _You_ , same question.”

Castiel gulped. He lifted his book so it was propped vertically, and he turned another page. “Missouri won’t let me,” he said. “All I want to do is hunt, but she goes out alone every time. Tonight, especially – she’s gone after some beasts a few hours away, meeting up with other hunters to slay the whole nest. Samhain’s always the most active night of the year. I desperately wanted to go, but... Well, I’m glad I stayed.” He gave Dean a fond look. “No hunt could be better than seeing you again.”

A smile played on Dean’s lips, and in his eyes. “Hmm,” he said, feeling all swirly inside.

“If you’re old enough to be a parent, I’m old enough to hunt,” Castiel said, apparently to himself. “I should tell her that.”

“But I’m not great at what I do,” Dean said. “As a parent I’m downright crappy, Cas. If I’m cut out for parenthood, then you’re a frickin’ prince in a magic pumpkin. You’re right, I can’t do it alone. And I shouldn’t have to. Just like you shouldn’t be hunting alone.”

He sat quietly after speaking, feeling strange about saying something so sensible. He never said shit like that. Maybe he was a grown-up, after all.

“Finally,” Castiel breathed.

“Oh, were you waitin’ on me spilling my heart out?” Dean asked, with no small amount of ire.

“No, here,” Castiel said, sitting up, laying the book down, tapping at one verse with a finger. “ _For Wisps and Wasps_ — I _knew_ wasps had something to do with it! This is a spell for pests that feast on decay, to make them return home. And I guess Wisps are the wasps of the supernatural world. They must have a home in a nearby realm.”

“So we lure the demon wasps out, then send ‘em packing? Alright... whadda we need? A white jumpsuit and veiled headgear? An open jar of grape jelly? A broken heart?”

A wily smirk crept over Castiel’s face, and he peered at Dean with _intention_ brewing in his eyes.

“Whatever you’re thinkin’... I’m not gonna like it, am I?”

“It depends,” Castiel said. “A black cloak can stand in for a protective suit; my armour against stings, as it were. But when it comes to grape jelly and a broken heart, I imagine... you’d do just fine.”

“Me?” Dean baulked. “You wanna use me as bait?”

“Who else in this room is consumed by grief?” Castiel asked, more seriously. “Sam aches for someone who’s still alive. He lives on in the hope that one day he’ll see Jess again... the same way I longed for you. Whenever I saw the Wisps myself, they took your form. Yet I could see reason, and run away. But _you_...” He spoke softly now, holding Dean’s hand. “Forgive me for reminding you, but your mother is never coming back. Unless you find peace in that fact – closure – your grief will be everlasting. And if there were ever an open jar of grief jelly, I believe you are it.”

Dean forced a smile through his watering eyes. “You sayin’ I’m sweet?”

“As honey.” Castiel leaned close and kissed Dean’s lips, and whispered, rather awkwardly, “Honey...buns.”

Dean broke out in snickers, hiding his face against Castiel’s shoulder. If he shed a tear there too, Castiel gave him no reason to be ashamed.

He pulled back, inhaling. “All right,” he breathed, checking the kids, all sleeping around the library. “Let’s do this. But let’s do it alone. No need to let anyone else get hurt.” Castiel nodded, and gave Dean’s hand a squeeze. Dean nodded back. “Suit up. And let’s go ruin a picnic on purpose.”

It was an easy walk back to the crossroads. They took the shortcut, bypassing the myriad of turns they took before. Soon they were deep in the cloying thickness of swamp mist, breathing its dense, rotting air, rolling the taste flat on their tongues. Dean wiped his clammy hands on his jeans, one at a time, eyes and flashlight turned to the waters. Alligators watched them pass by, listening for the creak of the wooden path and the squish of the moisture-fattened moss under their boots.

“Tell me about her,” Castiel asked, reaching out from under his cloak, hand against Dean’s elbow. “Your mother. What was she like?”

Dean sighed. “She changed a lot since you knew her. After Dad died...” He gulped hard, a flicker of anguish crossing his face. “Every year, she got tireder. Less patient. But, God, she was beautiful. Inside and out. Even when she snapped, she apologised right after. She, um. Smiled a lot. She loved Zeppelin, and the Beatles. She wore her hair kinda shaggy. Soft cotton sweaters with t-shirts underneath. Jeans, calf-high boots. When she was drunk she liked to dance – and she’d dance with us, teach us how to jive like back in the day.” Dean grinned, letting Castiel lead him towards their destination.

“Deep down, I think... I think she was scared. Scared of the exact thing that happened in the end. That someday she’d get taken out on a hunt, no warning, no chance to say goodbye. I figured the last thing she’d want is for me and Sam to get separated. She’d always say, I gotta look after Sammy. That was what Dad said too, said I gotta be the big man once he’s gone. ‘Cause if I don’t, who would, y’know?

“Sam was right, friends get each other through the bad shit. But nobody helped us more than each other. If we were apart... God. I’d have nothing. Do you know what I mean? Literally nothing. I can’t imagine myself living without him.”

“What if your mother were still alive?” Castiel asked, looking at Dean carefully, as Dean stepped over a large frog on the path. “Who would you be, if your sole responsibility were not to your brother?”

Dean scoffed. “Nobody. High school dropout with six bucks to his name, and a waived juvie court record dating back four years.”

When Castiel gave him a curious look, Dean explained, “Set a car on fire.”

Castiel did not pry any further. “I once kicked down a shed out of frustration,” he said. “It wasn’t scheduled for demolition for a whole other week.”

A wan smile was the most Dean could muster.

“Maybe I’d...” Dean drew a breath, letting it go slowly. “I’d probably learn to cook, or something. For real. Not just microwaved stuff on toast. Something that could be in a magazine.”

“At community college?”

“Yeah, maybe? Why?”

“Would you travel? What would you like to see?”

“Why you askin’?”

“Because I want to know. I want to know who you became. I’ve been with you all night and all you talk about is what you’ve lost, and Sam. Who are you outside of that?”

“How would I know?”

“Exactly, how _would_ you know?” Castiel eased them to a halt, and Dean realised they were at the same junction where they’d fought the Wisp that took Sam’s form. There were bullet holes in the swamp algae that hadn’t eased back together yet. “Your grief is holding you back, Dean. Until I met you tonight I thought all that was holding _me_ back was an overprotective godmother. But you have no such restraint. And you’re also tied down. We have dreams but can’t seem to follow them. So how do we move forward? How can we move forward together?”

Dean licked his lips. “Usually, to go forward, I drive.”

Castiel smiled. “Then perhaps we should drive. _To_ somewhere, not away.”

He was just the right height to press an easy kiss against Dean’s lips. He kissed him with one hand stroking his cheek, the other holding his wrist, thumb smoothing back and forth. Dean let his lips part, then close softly against Castiel’s as he angled his head. The bristle of his peach fuzz stung against Dean’s lips, bringing a flush of heat to his face.

This ought to have been a pleasant moment. But Castiel was right. All Dean could think about was how they could’ve had this sooner, had they not been apart. They could’ve lived together, if the law people had figured out that Missouri was their god-godmother and handed over her address. Even if Dean had decided to find the house on his dad’s map a few months before... They could’ve been family rather than estranged childhood friends, and this kiss was bittersweet because of it.

Dean’s primary emotion was grief.

He realised this, and immediately felt worse.

The chill of mist began to nip at Dean’s skin, and he felt the presence of someone else. He opened his eyes, breaking the kiss. Castiel’s eyes were already open, locked on a light that reflected in his eyes.

Slowly, Dean looked around.

Hovering in grid formation, lighting up the swamp’s overhanging fronds with pale, luminescent blue: Will-o’-the-Wisps. Little spheres of fire, each the size of a volleyball. They had no visible eyes but Dean knew distinctly that they were all looking at him.

_Ooonnne... daaaay..._

The singing came from nowhere and everywhere.

“I’m gonna die,” Dean uttered, as the entire swamp sang the same line.

“You’re not,” Castiel said, taking Dean’s hand. “We can banish these Wisps back to whence they came. _Depart this domain, glowing bulbs of doom; your venom has no power here_.”

As Castiel repeated the verse, Dean muttered along with him, skipping words as he forgot them, “ _Depart this... fires of doom... venom has no power here. Depart this realm – domain!_ Dammit...”

Dean gulped twice, unable to look away: one Wisp lowered itself to the path before him, growing tall, setting one boot out, legs clad in flared denim. Her hair was shoulder-length and shaggy, her leather jacket smooth at the elbows, as she had her hands in her pockets. She smiled pleasantly, while Castiel’s voice droned in the background, his insistent tone going unnoticed.

From her pocket Mary pulled a hand, and offered it to Dean.

The pain in Dean’s chest was overwhelming. It tightened on his throat and weighed heavy in his gut, stealing his breath away. He blinked slowly, letting his tears fall from his lashes. He couldn’t help it, he wanted to go to her. He missed her hugs. He missed her scent. He missed the sound of her voice at bedtime, telling him it was okay to feel angry, or sad, or some unnamable emotion that was nothing but loud noise inside him – because those feelings meant there was something wrong that needed to be fixed. Sometimes what needed to be fixed was a chemical in his brain, and that was okay. They’d figure it out. And they’d get through it together.

But now they would never be together again, and Dean could not get through it.

The ghost of Mary Winchester did not need to beckon, or list the reasons Dean should give up his life for her. That hand was an invitation all by itself.

Castiel’s demand went unheard, or ignored; the magic spell was not working.

Slowly, Dean drifted away from Castiel’s side. Of course he felt him pulling back; he knew Cas would not let go even if Dean was taken by the throat and pulled down under the water. But still Dean approached his mother. Her eyes were exactly the way he remembered them, though they were tinted fire-blue instead of green.

“Dean,” Castiel said, giving up on the spell. “You’re stronger than this. You know she isn’t real.”

“I know,” Dean said, again feeling distant from himself, disassociated. It was like his voice came from some other realm...

He blinked a few times, but the fuzzy, blurry feeling did not dissipate. His mind began to whirr. Magic – it wasn’t about exacts, right? It didn’t have to be perfect. It didn’t have to be ancient, or holy, or spiritual. Magic was about convenience, and intention.

“Hey,” Dean said to his mother, who was not his mother. He growled through the tears, his voice thick and emotional, “Get your flaming blue ass back on your side of the wall. I said goodbye to my Mom already. Compared to her— No scratch that, you don’t even compare to the freakin’ sole of her boot. I got plenty to live for. Sam. Cas. All of Sam’s friends – _my_ friends. And... and me. Myself. My future. Cooking class in a community college, in some rainy, haunted town on the West Coast. So you take your fake, glowing Mom, and shove her up your fake, glowing asses. Me and Cas? We’re going home.”

And with that, Dean turned around, gripped Castiel’s hand, and dragged him ten feet down the path. Then Dean turned around again, and _slammed_ an invisible door.

Nothing happened.

But... _nothing_ meant it had worked... right? No angry swarm of fiery demon wasps?

He took another look around the swamp crossroads, and realised with some surprise that the lights were _gone_. He hadn’t seen them go. In fact, now he wondered if he’d ever seen them at all. Yet – blinkblinkblink – there was still a haze of their light imprinted on his retinas. His eyes had seen them even if his brain wasn’t certain. Dean grinned, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What happened?” Castiel frowned. “They were there, and then—?”

“Samhain night,” Dean smiled. “Portals are open. I figured... if weird shit floats into our realm, maybe _we’re_ accidentally floating into someone else’s. I’ve been feelin’ weird all night. Comes and goes. But you know what it felt like? Like I wasn’t where I was meant to be.”

“And now we’re...”

“Home,” Dean said. “More or less.” He smiled to himself, chin down to his chest. “And I know where I’m meant to be, now.” He cast a sidelong glance in Castiel’s direction. “Thanks for helpin’ me figure it out.”

Castiel’s mouth hung slightly open. “Y... You’re welcome?”

Dean grinned and kissed him, wrapping both arms around the back of his neck, bringing him closer. As Dean exhaled, he felt the tension of tear tracks on his cheeks breaking apart, and he felt the weight on his heart lessen.

_I got plenty to live for..._

Dean broke their kiss, touching the backs of his fingers to his lips as he dropped back. “I say goodbye to her every day,” he confessed to Castiel, so quietly that Cas probably only heard a murmur. “I kinda... ask for her guidance. Get her opinion on something. A _What Would Mom Do?_ sort of thing. And then I gotta push her memory away again, and every time, it’s another goodbye. She ain’t a real ghost but she still haunts me.”

Castiel considered that. Then, he said, “Next time, ask yourself: what would _Dean_ do?”

Dean was stumped for a second. Then he chuckled. “Dean would sell his soul for a ‘67 Chevy Impala, then spend the next ten years riding up and down the country, whacking monsters into next week, and getting fat off expensive motel-made cuisine.”

With an amused snort, and a tug of his hand, Castiel began to lead Dean back to the house. “I think _Dean_ needs a little more perspective and some common sense. I know you have some. You showed it back there, with the Wisps.” He took a breath, then said, “That reminds me. You remember how Max and Alicia told the story of Julia Brown – she sang her song, and cursed the people of the town?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“The way Missouri told it... Julia’s song was meant to _warn_ people about the coming hurricane, not bring it upon them. She sang about a coincidence, not something she intended to cause. But her song must’ve had power, either way... _One day I’m gonna die, and take all of you with me_...” Castiel shook his head. “You, Dean, you’re the same. You’re not simply self-destructive, willing to give up everything and die at a moment’s notice – you’re also destructive to those around you. Even if you don’t intend it.”

Dean gripped Castiel’s hand tighter, keeping his face stern. “What d’ya mean?”

“You must’ve _known_ it was dangerous to bring children to a swamp infested with alligators. Let alone rife with supernatural activity – whether you believed in it or not.”

Dean chuffed. “Yeah! But... Sam said he wanted a scary swamp getaway for Halloween. What’s scarier than actual life-threatening danger? His friends are pretty tough. Benjamin’s kind of a wuss sometimes but that doesn’t mean she’d let her pals down because of it. She’d punch an alligator if it tried to bite someone. Easy.”

“Dean...” Castiel looked borderline horrorstruck. “I cannot say I’m an expert, but I don’t think that the every whim of a group of thrill-seeking teenagers can constitute sensible parenting decisions, in any respect. You must... be your own person. Have your own opinions before you cater to Sam’s. Bringing them out here was not safe.”

Dean shrugged. “No arguments there.” He smirked, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Was awesome though.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “‘Awesomeness’ is not a priority.”

They left the densely covered area, now basking in the moonlight while it faded into clouds on the horizon. Quietly, Castiel inhaled, and said in a tone of realisation, “If I’ve learned anything from being in Missouri’s care, it’s that the purpose of the guardian is to protect the child. Even if it comes at the cost of awesomeness.”

He turned his eyes to Dean.

Dean did not look back. Instead his attention lifted to the manor: a mighty white bastion, all its corners and walls beaming against the darkness of night. Just on the eastern horizon, the first feathers of dawn stroked the sky, and the light gleamed upon the window frames. From down here by the swamp, Dean could see that almost every window was painted with warding sigils.

Now Dean knew monsters were real. The world was full of dangers he’d never truly considered before.

What person, place, or thing in the world could offer protection more substantial than a house like _this_?


	8. Concept: Hot Chocolate in the Rain at Dawn

The frogs in this swamp were having the time of their lives. As the dawn light shattered through tree branches on the horizon, a skyful of tumbling, thick clouds rolled up, releasing a hush of pitter-patters throughout the marshland. From their vantage point, up on the porch of the manor, Dean and Castiel watched, and listened, hearing the guttural grunts of delighted bullfrogs, and the ribbits of others, combined with the chirrups of the tiny green ones in the trees.

The porch was covered by an overhang, sheltering Dean and Castiel from the rain. They sat together on a musty old seat, once upholstered in curtain fabric, now dulled and greened by the humidity and years outside. They shared a plaid blanket between them, draped over their shoulders where they huddled together.

In each of their hands they cradled a mug of hot cocoa. Dean’s mug was chipped on the rim, so he held it with the handle over his left hand, rather than his usual right. He kept admiring the little bees painted on the sides. He didn’t need to ask: he knew Cas had made the mug himself. Castiel held a squat, black mug with a white rim, and he sipped from it, eyes unfocused. The dips of skin that defined his eye sockets were more prominent than they’d been all night; he hadn’t slept, and neither had Dean.

In silence, they expressed their companionship. Simply sitting. Listening. Watching the big raindrops splat out on the porch barrier. Enjoying the soft, random notes of the windchimes hanging from the overhang.

Within twenty minutes, Dean realised the light had turned from a sulky blue to a gracious, glowing green. Now that the sunshine was highlighting the tallest of the cypress trees, the place didn’t look so scary.

It was just a forest. Only slightly haunted. Nothing to worry about.

“You think they’ll ever come back?” Dean asked, his voice husky with fatigue. “The Wisps.”

Castiel looked at the side of Dean’s face, smiling. “Who am I to say? They’ve been here for many, many years, ever since Julia’s hurricane, and the aura of grief in the area attracted them. They probably see this place as home, as much as I do.” He paused to consider that. “But it’s also possible they’d find a home somewhere else if they left. Playing with someone new.”

Dean gazed at Castiel’s bare feet, gulping instead of raising his eyes.

Castiel sipped his drink, exhaling into the mug and pushing steam out across his cheeks. He swallowed as he lowered the mug again.

“What about us?” Dean asked. “Wh... What’s home for us, now? I know Sammy wants to stick around, but...”

“It’s all up to Missouri,” Castiel said, quietly. “It’s her decision whether or not Sam can stay. If she says no... and if I’m still not allowed to leave, this may well be goodbye.” He frowned. “I wish I could come with you, Dean.”

Slowly, Dean lapped at his lips. “Me too,” he admitted. He hung his head. “ _God_ , me too.”

For a moment, they remained unmoving.

Then Castiel slipped his fingers to Dean’s thigh, and Dean lowered one hand so they could hold on tight. Whether or not they’d get a chance to be together later, they were together now. For his own sake, Dean vowed not to grieve for the future, in the case that Castiel would be made to stay. He only celebrated. Because after ten years without lingering anywhere long enough to make a close friend, now he had one again. The best, most special friend he’d ever had. And one night had been all they needed.

The next few hours would only tell if they could have more.

Bones led the way back to the camp, tongue lolling, his golden fur smearing with raindrops which tumbled, splishing down onto the path under his paws. Sam dawdled behind, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched to keep the rain off his neck.

Max followed, yawning with his jaw wide, eyes squinched shut. “Aauuugh,” he groaned, smacking his lips together. “Can’t believe we slept until _noon_. Worse, can’t believe they went to fight Wisps _without_ us.” Tutting, he scrambled after Sam and muttered, “Can’t believe you ‘n me kissed last night.”

“Oh, shut up, it was a game,” Sam smiled. “ _I_ can’t believe Dean was _actually_ crushing on Cas. I was just teasing. He always talked about his best friend with stars in his eyes, but I kinda thought it was... you know, a _friend_ -friend thing.”

“Heyy, people can be friend-friends and also be _boyfriend_ -friends,” Max said, elbowing Sam. “So long as they can acknowledge they’re not _completely_ over their high school girlfriends.”

Sam chuckled. “What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothin’ at all,” Max said. But he gave Sam a quick wink, and with flushing cheeks, Sam responded by peering back over his shoulder to check if anyone had overheard.

Just Alicia, who stared interestedly, licking sugar granules off her lips from the pastry she was eating.

A few paces behind Alicia, Ellie caught wind that she was missing out, so skipped forward to walk beside Alicia, slipping a hand into hers. “What’cha talking about?” Before anyone could answer, she gasped, and said, “Did you guys see Dean and Cas making out on the porch?”

“Yeah,” the others chimed, all wearing huge grins.

More sadly, Sam said, “I think Dean’s gonna miss Cas a lot. Do... Do any of you guys think maybe he’d want to stay? Hang around here? Ahh, it’s probably too much to hope for...”

“You should go for it,” Max said firmly. “Ask Dean— Nay, _demand_ that Dean lets you board here for a few months. Cas seemed okay with it, right? He could do with some company.”

“Yeah, but his godmother...” Sam pressed his lips together, ducking under a branch. “And you lot— How would you get home?”

“I can drive everyone home,” Ellie said, looking between them. “My parents’ ranch isn’t that far. If Dean could drop us off there, I can borrow the truck and give everyone a ride. Seriously, Sam, you gotta at least ask. You’ve been living in motels for years. Everything you own is stuffed in the trunk of the minivan. Imagine living in a house where there’s a _library_.”

“Ughh, don’t get my hopes up,” Sam complained, just as they returned to their camp. “Even if I could camp out _here_ , with this sopping wet tent and all these dead mosquitos in the netting, I’d be happy. Bones could make friends with the alligators, couldn’t you, Bones?”

Bones padded up to him with muddy paws, a contented shine in his brown eyes. Sam gave his damp ears a hearty rub, and Bones closed his eyes, smiling. They opened again suddenly, alert, and Sam turned to see the newcomers.

It was Dean, with Benjamin behind him, wearing Dean’s jacket, since she’d left her own back here at the camp. Dean looked thoroughly preoccupied, making his way for the tent, bare arms reaching to start pulling the frame down.

“Heyhey, wait, gotta get our stuff,” Sam said, taking off his shoes so he could go inside. “So much for all the sleeping bags, huh. _And_ the tent rental.”

When Sam emerged with his sleeping bag, he noticed how Dean stood by, apparently lost in a daze. He didn’t look as happy as he had back at the house. His eyes were shadowed, and he kept rubbing his hand over his mouth, bristling at his morning stubble.

“Hey...” Sam approached his brother, while squishing his sleeping bag back into its sack, doing up the drawstring. “Dean, you okay?”

“Wuh?” Dean blinked twice, meeting Sam’s eyes. “Uh. Yeah. Just... tired.”

He didn’t look tired. He looked sad.

Sam waited to see if Dean would correct himself. But when he didn’t, Sam stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, arms going all the way around, then overlapping his hands and elbows. He squeezed, holding on for a while.

When he pulled back, Sam locked eyes with Dean, and said very clearly, “If you don’t want to leave... then don’t leave. It’s safe here. Mostly.”

Dean’s lips parted. “It’s not that. It’s...” He seemed pained for a moment...

Then his face tensed, and he was _determined_. “Screw it, I gotta do something. You dorks are gonna be fine by yourselves for, like, ten minutes, right?” He looked around, between stunned faces. “Taking that as a yes. Pack up the tent, put that fire out— Holy shit, we left the fire burning? And it’s still going?” He shook his head. “Whatever, just deal with it. Alicia, you’re sensible, you’re in charge. Don’t forget to grab all the litter.”

“Yessir,” Alicia said, saluting Dean.

“Hey, what about me?” Sam said.

Dean waved Sam off. “You’re on alligator watch. See ya punks later.” And with that, he turned and went back the same way he’d come, apparently unbothered by the rain soaking into his t-shirt.

“Wonder where he’s going,” Alicia said.

“Gonna kiss his boyfriend one last time, probably,” Benjamin mumbled, shrugging inside Dean’s leather jacket. “Before they separate forever.”

Dean knocked on the front door, head down.

Castiel took all of three seconds to answer. “Na-Nan, I need to ask— Oh, it’s you.” He didn’t look disappointed, just confused. “I thought you left.”

Dean saw the puffiness around Castiel’s eyes, the kind most likely caused by crying. Dean shrugged a shoulder, then stepped over the threshold, setting a hand on Castiel’s waist when Castiel didn’t back away. “Couldn’t leave without sayin’ goodbye properly.”

Castiel’s mouth twitched a little more downward at the corners. “I... I really don’t want...”

Soft lips pressed together. A gentle exhale floated between their skin, warm and humid and thick with the agony of more oncoming grief.

“No,” Castiel said, pushing Dean away by the chest. “ _No_ , I’m not letting you leave again. It was impossible to prevent separating when you were eleven. It was a _mistake_ saying goodbye ten minutes ago. If you leave again I’m... I can’t do it. I can’t do it, Dean. If you won’t stay then— Then I’m coming with you. Damn what my godmother says. I’m twenty-one years old, and maybe I’m _not_ equipped for the outside world, maybe I’m _not_ prepared for every eventuality, or actual ghosts, or demons, or the complexities of everyday human interaction. But I’m never going to learn to deal with those things unless I do it. Unless I leave. _I’m coming with you_.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. Okay, cool. Then – let’s pack. Everything you need. Clothes, food. Cash. Hunting gear.”

Excitement and fear bloomed together in Castiel’s blue eyes. “I have everything ready, I keep an emergency pack under my bed. I just need two minutes to grab my bag and go to the bathroom. That’s all.” He surged forward to peck at Dean’s lips. “Wait for me?”

“I’ve been waitin’ years, you think a couple extra minutes would put me off?” Dean grinned. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

In one energetic movement, Castiel left, bounding up the stairs. Dean wondered if he’d bring the shiny golden dinner jacket, or if he had more casual clothes packed.

When Cas said two minutes, he really meant two minutes. Dean had barely had the time to admire the library’s ambience in daylight, then cautiously approach Trouble the snake with a sneering expression and every intention to yank back his hand – when Castiel came back down the stairs, out of breath, somewhat windswept.

“I’m ready,” he panted. He wore a blue army jacket now, and light blue jeans over canvas sneakers. Dean was fairly sure he saw a Looney Tunes character on his t-shirt. Castiel came up to Dean, smiling as he spotted him trying to interact with Trouble.

“You’re not taking the snake, are you?” Dean asked.

Castiel didn’t seem sure. “Who else could look after her? Missouri’s barely home. Anyway, I don’t know what I would do without her, she’s helped me through so much...” He looked at Trouble carefully. “Do you want to go travelling, Trouble?”

Trouble flicked out her forked tongue, hissing softly.

Castiel lowered his eyes. “Ah,” he said. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He draped the animal around his shoulders, still pondering.

At that moment, the front door clacked, opening up. Dean and Castiel both turned – but as Dean tensed, Castiel relaxed.

This had to be Missouri. She was a big lady, dressed like she was going to church, wearing a suit jacket and skirt so dark in colour that they nearly matched her skin. Only the tear in her jacket sleeve and the blood on the blouse underneath made it clear she’d been hunting.

“Na-Nan,” Castiel said softly, heading towards her, dropping his rucksack on the Turkish rug as he got there. He was the same height as her, perhaps a few inches taller. He looked back at Dean, eyes beckoning him closer. “Na-Nan, I know you’re angry at me, and I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry for what I said last night. I was... frustrated. As much as I hope you can understand, perhaps we could set that aside for now. Because I want you to meet someone. This is—”

“Dean Winchester,” Missouri said, breathy and warm. She began to smile, reaching to cup Dean’s cheek. He didn’t pull away, feeling as if she was familiar. She smelled like turmeric and baby powder. An old friend...

With a big smile, Missouri let Dean’s cheek go. “Ain’t seen you since you was a sweet baby boy, marching around, all determined to find your baby Sammy a snack. Damn, you grew up cute. Look at you.” She admired him, head to toe, then reached to pinch the tip of his nose. Dean set a hand over his nose, just to check his nose was still there. Yep. He smiled.

But the light in Missouri’s eyes slowly dimmed, and she looked from Dean to Castiel. Finally her gaze settled on Castiel, and she let out a sigh. “Guess you found your escape clause, huh? You ain’t goin’ by yourself. And you ain’t unprepared.”

“We banished Will-o’-the-Wisps,” Castiel said. “Hundreds of them. On Samhain night.”

“So you did? So you did,” Missouri nodded, processing the information. She started to shake her head. “Listen, about last night, precious. I know you hate stayin’ cooped up here with nowhere to go and no-one to see. Always knew the time would come, someday. You flyin’ the nest. I did my best to keep you safe all these years, but I know you never much appreciated it...”

“You’re wrong, I did,” Castiel said, eyes down. His hand slunk into Dean’s, holding his fingers. “You’ve given me everything I needed, Na-Nan. You also gave me the knowledge I needed to keep my friends safe last night. But...” Parting his lips, Castiel gazed at Dean. “I need something different now.” He looked back to Missouri, and with a tone that only a mature person could perfect, he said, “I have to go. It’s time. Thank you for everything you’ve sacrificed for me, Missouri.”

Missouri’s shoulders sank, in both sadness and acceptance. Lips pressed together, she nodded. “Boy,” she sighed. “I’m gonna miss you somethin’ terrible. Who am I gonna come home to, now?”

A creak on a floorboard behind Missouri drew all of their attention. Missouri turned around. Dean saw Sam’s slight figure, one hand holding the front door frame, one pushing the door open a little more.

“Ma’am,” he said, meeting Missouri’s eyes, “My name is Sam Winchester. I... I’m seventeen years old. And if you don’t mind me saying, y-your library is hands-down the coolest library I’ve ever set foot in in my life. He breathed a laugh, “And I’ve been in a lot of libraries.”

“Aw! Well, ain’t that somethin’.”

Sam hurried on, “Plus... Cas? He’s the coolest friend Dean’s ever made. And you probably had a lot to do with that.”

Dean gave Cas a quick affirming nod and a little wink, which made Castiel’s cheeks turn rosy.

“Look... Um, I— I couldn’t help overhear,” Sam said, eyes darting to Dean, gulping, then returning to look at Missouri, “You’re worried you’d be lonely if Cas left with Dean. But I’d... humbly, and wholeheartedly, like to ask your permission to... to stay here. I— I don’t need much. I’d be out for most of the day, college classes and stuff. I barely eat anything—” Dean scoffed, but Sam persisted, “I can grow my own food, I’ve always wanted to do that—”

“Oh, honey, you had me at ‘Sam Winchester’,” Missouri crooned, going to Sam and settling a ring-clad hand on the top of his head. “Just like I did for Castiel, I swore to your parents hand-to-heart I’d look after you, if y’all ever wandered my way. You don’t gotta promise me a field of lettuce, I’d be happy just to see your face every mornin’. But _boy_ – do _you_ need a haircut.”

The tremble in Sam’s smile made Dean smile too, squeezing Cas’ hand.

“Can I learn to be a witch hunter?” Sam asked, eyes gleaming with hope. “I mean! A hunter that’s a witch. Not that I want to hunt witches. Do you hunt witches? Wait, are witches good or bad—?”

“Witches are whatever they make themselves to be,” Missouri chuckled, both open hands holding Sam’s face adoringly. “Just like you, sweet baby. Hell, if books and magic are your thing, you’re gonna have the time of your life, here.”

Castiel gulped.

Dean looked at him questioningly. “What?”

Castiel simply looked at Sam and said, “Missouri is a good teacher. And also a good student, if there’s ever something you have to teach her in return. She’ll listen to you if you have different needs.”

Sam smiled back, straightening up as Missouri let his cheeks go.

“But the one thing she won’t let you do is hunt before you’re ready,” Castiel went on, stroking his snake, who stuck out her flickering tongue. He peered down at her, as she turned her little head to peer back. “And today... I think I’ve proven I’m ready.”

Castiel lifted his familiar from his shoulders, and went to Sam. “Trouble finds her own food outside. Collect her skin when she sheds it, it’s useful in spellwork.”

“Wait, you mean you’re leaving her?” Sam asked, alarmed.

“I can’t take her, she’s completely illegal,” Castiel said. “If she was discovered in a motel she’d be confiscated. Here’s safest. She needs a stable environment, besides.” He draped the snake around Sam’s neck, then bent to kiss Trouble’s head. “Take care of him, Trouble. And be patient, he’s learning.”

Castiel bent to collect his bag from the rug, and he stood straight, taking a deep breath. “Goodbye, Na-Nan.”

As Missouri and Castiel embraced, Dean flung himself at Sam, squeezing his head so hard that Sam snuffled, finding it hard to breathe. Trouble slithered off Sam and onto Missouri's shoulders, offended at being hugged. Dean loosened his grip only slightly, swaying into the hug, side-to-side. The rush of loss and the happiness of freedom went crashing about in Dean’s chest, and he sobbed, frowning into Sam’s hoodie. One of Sam’s sure hands caressed Dean’s head, and Dean felt relieved by it.

Sam wanted this. Dean had to admit, on some occasions, Sam was the more mature brother. Today he’d gripped his life’s desires by the tail and taken action, in a manner Dean had never been able to do. In a way, Sam had freed them both.

Now Dean pulled back, not fighting the tears that strolled down his cheek. He managed a small smile, and leaned in one more time, putting a kiss on Sam’s forehead. “No Internet here,” he mumbled, shaking Sam by one shoulder as he eased back. “Guess I’ll just _have_ to visit.”

“Actually, I do have a bit of wi-fi,” Sam said, pulling his dead phone from his pocket and waggling it. “The power drains fast, yeah, but I managed to upload last night’s photos to the cloud. It’s weird, no-one else had any signal at all.”

“Quit talkin’,” Dean smiled. “I’m trying to make excuses to come see you and you’re ruining it.”

Sam just smirked. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Yeah.” Dean gave Sam one last squeeze. He fell back, one hand magnetised to Castiel’s. His eyes darted to Missouri, who was wiping tears from her eyes with the corner of a shawl.

Suddenly, a great force barged through the front door, clawed feet pattering onto the wood, leaving dirty pawprints behind as he trotted around the gathered people, overexcited. Missouri yelped and fanned at her heart, not having expected a large muddy dog to enter her house without warning.

“Oh, by the way, ma’am,” Dean said, grinning over at Missouri, “This is Bones. He and Sammy kinda come as a package deal.”

“Oh!” Missouri said, with an uneasy smile. “Well... Bless your li’l heart! What a... _well behaved_ familiar you are,” she said to Bones, who sat his muddy butt on the Turkish rug, wagging his muddy tail across it. “Ahh,” Missouri sighed, hands on her stomach. “Guess I’ll learn to love you.”

Sam and Dean shared one more smile, knowing instinctively that Missouri was right.

“Oh... One more thing,” Castiel said, eyes turning to Dean. “Fetch your belongings and join me at the back of the house. There’s...” he glanced at Missouri, shared a smile with her, then looked back to Dean, “something you need to see.”


	9. Free the Tigers

“What’s going on, though,” Ellie demanded, trailing after the group. “I thought we were leaving already.”

“Look, don’t ask me, I don’t know,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Cas just said...”

They stepped off the wooden path in single file, then hurried to gather together at the back of the manor. Dean led the way, wearing his leather jacket again, both hands holding the straps of his backpack for security.

Sam was there. So was Missouri, with Trouble on her shoulders.

Castiel had put on a trenchcoat over his canvas jacket, and although he looked a picture in that outfit, Dean couldn’t find the words to comment. Once everyone was ready, Castiel crouched, took hold of the garage door handle, and yanked the thing up on its rollers. The door roared stiffly, like it hadn’t been shifted in years—

Dean looked past the boxes and the cobwebs, as well as the dust motes that waltzed in the stark noon sunlight. There, hiding in the darkness, was a shiny metallic form, one he recognised with core-deep shock taking him by the throat.

“No _way_ ,” Sam exclaimed, both hands slapping to his forehead. “Oh my God, I thought we’d never see that again! Dean! _Dean_ —” He went to Dean and took his sleeve, shaking him. Dean wavered on his feet, utterly dumbfounded. “Dean, it’s Mom’s car. _It’s Mom’s car_.”

“Sweet ride,” Ellie said. “Classic Impala? _Noice_.”

Dean only stood with his mouth open, tears welling in his waterline, a heavy bass thumping in his eardrums. He shook his head in awe, and his eyes drifted to Castiel and Missouri, who wore twin expressions of gladness. “H... How?” was all Dean could articulate.

In her warm, airy voice, Missouri explained, “A whole lotta your family’s heirlooms ended up coming my way. The hunters’ faction your parents were part of, our numbers slowly dwindled... Those of us who were left, we kept connected, long after we lost our friends.” A sad smile pressed between her lips. “I’ve been keeping a lookout for you, both you and your brother. But you’ve been hard to track down, this past year since your mama passed. Always moving. Always switching schools, no permanent address, barely a paper trail to follow.”

Dean felt Sam’s eyes on him, and guilt tingled in the pit of his belly.

“Your mama promised me you’d come here eventually,” Missouri went on, giving Dean a knowing look. “‘Course, she couldn’t give you the address directly – this is a hunters’ safehouse, ain’t nobody meant to know it’s here. But she said you’d figure it out.”

Dean stroked the strap of his bag, thinking of the journal inside, with the map of the swamp that led him here...

“The car was always meant for you,” Missouri said to Dean. “You’re free to do with it what you like.”

Dean stood straighter. “Can I drive it?”

“You got a license?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned.

“Then have at it, sweetheart,” Missouri said, gesturing to the car. “Poor baby needs some TLC; I ain’t a car person, I wouldn’t know the first thing to do...”

Ellie and Dean were both already on it; Ellie patted a hand on the hood, immediately muttering to herself about oil levels and dead batteries. Dean, however, drifted to the driver’s side window, fingers stroking longingly over the silver rims. His tearful stare shot to Sam, who wandered along the other side, stars of joy in his eyes.

Dean smiled at Sam, even while Sam didn’t look back.

When their eyes met, they shared a grin.

“The key,” Castiel said, lifting a ring from a hook on a wall-mounted pinboard. He gave it to Dean with a caring hand. “She’s all yours.”

Dean set the key into the door lock, and twisted. The _clunk_ sent a shiver down his spine, and he shut his eyes to savour it.

“Dude,” Sam said, looking up at Dean. “Does this mean I get the minivan?”

Dean smirked. “Sure.”

“You could drive us home!” Max said, clapping Sam on the back.

Alicia pumped her fist. “Yesss, four more hours of Halloween.”

While Sam discussed this plan with his friends, Dean opened up the Impala’s door and slid into the seat, taking off his backpack and shutting the door behind him. Once sealed into this cavern of memories, he felt his heart soar. There was no way to describe how the seat felt under his ass except _perfect_. Squishy, yet firm leather. The steering wheel felt familiar under his hand. The _smell_ of the car— Oh...

Dean chuckled from deep in his throat. He hadn’t felt elation this strong since before he heard the news about his mom. Having the car couldn’t fix everything, but it softened the ache. He had something to remember her by, when before he’d had nothing. And as far as memorabilia went, this was cool as hell.

“ _Hey!_ ” Ellie called from outside. “ _Dean, pop the hood!_ ”

Dean searched for the lever, and pulled. Ellie lifted the hood, one hand with bitten nails just showing over the top.

Castiel rapped his knuckles on the passenger window, and Dean lay down on his side to reach the lock. As Castiel popped open the door slightly, Dean heard him and Sam having the tail end of a conversation.

A moment later, Castiel poked his head in, asking Dean, “May I join you?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Dean smiled. “Welcome to your new home, I guess.”

Castiel sat on the other side of the long front seat, clapping the door shut. “Look what Sam gave me,” he chirped, showing Dean a white friendship bracelet, braided with clear beads. “It’s like the ones you all have. He gave me his own, since it was short notice; he said he’d make himself a new one.”

Dean simply smiled, fondly watching Castiel slip the bracelet on and tighten it with its end cords.

Through the dusty windshield, Dean saw and heard Ellie giving instructions to the others about hosing down the glass, and checking if there was anything left in that-there gas can hooked on the garage wall. The tinkering and bonking of her poking around in the engine gave Dean a thrill of excitement; someday he’d be doing this job too. He’d let Ellie have her fun for now, though.

Castiel drew a deep breath.

“Smells awesome, huh,” Dean smiled. “Reminds me of Mom dropping Sammy off at school, his senior year. Then dropping me at the garage ‘round the block. I worked there mornings, then a local diner afternoon through evening.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Wow. Kinda feels like another life.”

Castiel remained quiet, simply contemplating.

Dean felt the subtle lift of the wheels being pumped up. Ellie’s shouts echoed through the glass – “ _Do the back left next! Sam, get the squeegee!_ ” – and a smile twitched on Dean’s lips, glad that his final remaining moments with Sam today were spent devoted to a precious gift from their mother.

Curious, Dean swivelled in his seat, peering into the back seat.

Empty...

He looked in the door’s side pockets... Just an army man toy, jammed in there for all eternity.

Glove compartment? He reached over Cas’ lap, popping open the cubby. The lid fell out flat, and inside, a single envelope balanced upright for a second, then _plapp!_ ed down, revealing a name written on its front, in Mary Winchester’s handwriting.

_Dean._

Chills descended through Dean’s body, scalp down. That was his name. The envelope was for him!

He hesitated, reaching – then he snatched it up all at once, bringing it to his lap. It was still sealed, and he snuck the tip of his thumb into the fold and tore in increments along the top seam. It released a cloud of paper dust, which shone even more as Ellie dropped the hood, and the sunshine poured through from the open garage door ahead.

Dean slowly released a breath through his pursed lips. Was he ready for this? What if he cried?

A splatter of fresh water coasted across the windshield, hiding Dean’s fragile expression from Sam and his friends. Cas would be the only witness to this ceremony.

Dean gulped. Then nodded to himself.

The letter edges hissed as Dean snuck the folded paper out from the envelope. Mary’s note was written on two manilla paper sheets from a motel, one Dean didn’t recall ever staying at with Sam. She’d used a blue ballpoint that was running out of ink, so random curves of the letters were broken in places. But it was all still legible.

So Dean read.

_Dean,_

_Oh, great, this is going to be a hard one to write. If you’re reading this, I’m either dead, or floating mindlessly in some other dimension. Maybe both. You never know with hunting. Either way, I’m sure I’m content where I am. I just wanted to make sure all the things in this letter are said, in case I never get my chance to say them aloud._

_The car is for you to keep. She was your daddy’s car before he died, and he always took good care of her. I won’t make you promise to do the same, because she guzzles gas faster than Sam can down a glass of milk and cough it back out his nose (remember that time?), and the upkeep definitely isn’t cheap. Yes, she’s a special car. But you mustn’t hold onto things if they don’t serve you well. But, if she brings you happiness, treasure her always. (The same goes for people!)_

_I’ve made arrangements for the car and our other belongings to be moved, once word gets out I’m gone. Everything will go to friends and family, so they can look after them until you’re ready to have them. I wasn’t sure about Sam’s crib, but I supposed someday you might want it again if you ever have kids of your own. Missouri Moseley has the crib already, and if I die while I’m away from you, the car will end up with her, too. You probably don’t remember her from when you were little, but she’s good people. She can be trusted. Her place is the safest, setting aside her little “wasp” problem._

_Since Castiel’s parents are out of the picture, Missouri agreed she’d take you too. At the point I’m writing this I haven’t talked to a lawyer to make that official, but I’m planning on doing it as soon as I get time. The map to her house is in John’s journal._

_There’s a story Missouri once told me, about a ghost who haunts a certain swamp. Alive, she was a witch doctor, and kind and generous woman, but when her husband died, grief sent her to the dark side. She’d sing songs about her death, and she’d scare people, and promised that the day she died, she’d take the whole town with her. Of course, with her power, it came to pass just like she said. But she died sad and lonely, and I can’t help but think that if she’d allowed people close instead of driving them away, her years of grief wouldn’t have been so hard to bear._

_I know it’s hard to open your heart after you lose someone. After John died, I withdrew completely, and the distance I forced almost cost us the support of all our family friends, all the hunters in our network. I separated you from you your best friend too, and I’m forever sorry about that, Dean. I hope you can forgive me someday, I know how much you loved Castiel. But you can undo my mistake, and be careful not to make the same one again. Keep friends nearby. Let them love you. It’ll make even the hardest things easier, I promise._

_Look after Sam. Missouri will do the big jobs, like finding money for college and food. Just make sure Sam’s safe and happy. And then do the same for yourself – I worry you’ll forget._

_I love you both the same, with all of my heart. I only want the best for both of you, and a safe world for you to live in. That’s why I devoted myself to hunting. I’m sorry for leaving you. All I can say is that I didn’t do it on purpose. I’ll see you both in the next life, but not a moment before it’s your time._

_Whatever you choose to do with your years on Earth, I know you’ll make me proud, Dean. Go get ‘em, tiger._

_Love, Mary._

Dean read to the end of the letter, and folded it down. He began to sob, heat rising in his face, eyes glazed with tears. His body curled forward, shoulders hunched, head bowed. He ached, and felt light, and heavy, and confused, and relieved. And happy. And sad.

He set both hands over his eyes and wept, with love for his mother and grief for her passing, but joy at seeing her words again, and hearing her voice in his heart. This was the goodbye he’d always needed. Sam had received his letter through a family friend only a week after Mary died, but Dean’s never surfaced. He thought he’d been forgotten. Overlooked. For a whole year he’d thought Mary assumed he already knew what to do, that he was ‘smart enough to figure it out’. But he hadn’t been. He’d floundered all year, yet never considered blaming his mother for it, only blaming himself for letting her down. Letting Sam down.

And now—?

This was meant for him all along. The letter must’ve gotten lost, and ended up here with everything else. These were the words he’d needed in order to move on, and move forward.

Castiel’s warm hand settled on Dean’s shoulder. His comforting touch stayed there as Dean shook, and shivered, and hiccuped up his breaths.

But eventually Dean felt a trembling smile on his face, and he chuckled, grabbing the neck of his t-shirt and using it to wipe tears from his face. He tasted their salted relief on his lips.

Everything was okay now.

Weakly, Dean gave Castiel a smile. Castiel responded with a curious head-tilt, asking if Dean was all right.

Dean nodded. “‘m good,” he breathed. For once, it didn’t feel like a lie. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He looked out through the clean windshield, seeing Ellie reeling back the hosepipe, Benjamin showing Alicia how well she could juggle two squeegees, Max pretending the tire-pumper was a hookah pipe, making faces like he was stoned, and Sam laughing at the circus before him, folded forward over his thighs, arms wrapped around his belly. Missouri looked on at the nonsense, then turned her eyes to Dean.

Dean smiled at her. _Good people_.

They were all good people. Sam was safe and happy. Dean’s job was... done.

Well, for now.

“What d’ya think,” Dean said, turning his gaze to Castiel. “Head out? Come back in a few weeks, see how Sam’s doin’?”

Castiel’s unsure smile widened, and became a full-on grin. “I like that plan.”

Dean jumped at the _tang-tang!_ of a hand patting on the hood. Ellie was out there, giving Dean a hand signal. “ _Rev her up!_ ”

With a determined exhale, Dean reached for the ignition, and turned the key. The Impala didn’t want to go at first, she coughed and complained, whining horribly. But as Dean whispered, “It’s okay, Baby, I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” her whinging turned to more of a grunt, and soon—

The grunts dropped into a low, long growl. Her whole body shook like a cat waking from a nap, vibrating under Dean’s thighs. “Woo!” Dean cheered, slamming a fist to the roof. He gave Castiel a bright-eyed grin. “To Vegas! Or Seattle! Somewhere around there!”

“To the store down the road,” Castiel added. When Dean sneered at him, Castiel insisted, “They sell good chocolate milk!”

Dean laughed. “A’right. Chocolate milk. _Then_ Vegas.”

Sam and his friends beckoned the Impala from her cave of hibernation. Dean took hold of the wheel, set his feet to a pedal, and eased her forward, guided by the group.

Bump – down off the garage concrete. Then, bump – back wheels too. Sunlight gleamed on her freshly-sparkling hood, warming Dean’s hands on the wheel.

“Left!” Sam called, as Dean wound down his window. “Around the house!”

Dean stretched his arm out through the window, taking Sam’s hand. “Love ya, little brother.”

“Ugh, I love you too, Dean,” Sam said, with only marginal eye-rolling. They pressed their palms together in a sort of high-five, then separated. “Have a good trip, Dean! See you soon! I’ll call you!”

Dean gave Sam a two-finger salute. The Impala’s wheels met the softer ground, and from there, Dean faced the road. He wore a little smile, eyes twinkling as he looked into the rear-view mirror and saw Sam and his friends bathed from behind in sunlight, high-fiving and hanging off each other’s shoulders. They all watched the car pull away. Bones barked as he chased them, but stopped when Sam whistled for him, and he bounded back to Sam’s side, tail wagging.

Soon, everyone was out of sight. Dean took the sole route out of here, through the thick forest where they’d come in the evening before.

Dean looked to his right and saw his best friend, wearing that weird trenchcoat, the Road Runner on his t-shirt, and a big, big smile. That was the smile of someone finally free to chase their dreams. It took a second, but Dean soon realised his smile was exactly the same.

“Let’s go get ‘em, tiger,” he said quietly, as the car roared off between the trees.

**{ the end }**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you want to keep me ‘in business’, as it were, please check out [my tumblr sidebar](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/) (desktop works best) to find out how you can support me and my writing ♥
> 
> If you want something similar-ish to read, may I recommend [**The Wireless**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12329541) (58k), if you want a fun solarpunk aesthetic and kisses, or perhaps [**Lucid Nightmare**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9784667) (10k) if you’re in the mood for rhyming spooks. Or [**In Which Dean Frogs Up**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4077289) (6k) if you want something short and magical!
> 
> Again, I’m so grateful to you for joining me on this journey, especially those of you who keep coming back. Writing fics is EVERYTHING to me (literally; I don’t do anything else, chronic illness hrhgh), and the experience is made _triply cool_ by the support and encouragement and kudos I get from you guys. (On that note, a spoopy kudos = a spoopy smile on my face ♥✨)
> 
> ✦ [art/fic reblog!!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/166964650210/marshmalloween-in-an-attempt-to-be-the-worlds)


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